She was alarmed at how little her husband Gianfrancesco packed for the trip, leaving behind his best scarlet and black lucco, which he wore for every business and political meeting. Wood. She galloped up the small stairs, hearing that Shari had finally risen. “May I ask whether you are staying with friends in town?” he inquired deferentially. I would not have him know—now—for the world. Now we meet again, and you will scarcely look at me. “I mean to go to that dance!” she blubbered.
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