Oddly, he was seldom angry with her as Gianfrancesco would have been. The simile started a laugh in his throat. She savored the sweetness of his lips, all of his great youth and passion and longed for his innocence, his complete lack of the knowledge of terrible things. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. “Will you tell Sydney that I will see him in the morning,” he said. “I can’t keep away from you.
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