Her motherly features creased into anxious wrinkles. "Do nothing without consulting my father—your father, Thames," she implored. ’ ‘And was not she put out?’ demanded Miss Froxfield with a tinkling laugh. She heard this standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that astonished herself. “For instance?” She smiled. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua.
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