Analysis would come later, when the primitive conscience, satisfied, would cease to dominate his thought and action. His noble Florentine roots went back a thousand years, to the days of grand Rome herself. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin.
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