The Plague raced through the city and the Palazzo, consuming it like fire. "My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack. A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. The skies became brilliant; the dry monsoon was setting in. “Stop! Stop telling me these things at once! We should stay in the Palazzo! I must protect my ancestral home!” Gianfrancesco exclaimed. He is in the secret passage. Much to my amazement, as soon as I was in her presence I forgot about my magic and thought only of love.
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