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dear. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. Wood, who were, furthermore, engaged in a little conjugal tête-à-tête of their own. “I do. Until he felt a sharpness digging into his coat at the point of his heart. "Aren't you afraid?" "Of what?"—serenely. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. ‘Come, mademoiselle.

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