His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray. He had got here at speed by that means. He did not think of her as a killer, he could barely conceive it. Muttering something to himself, he appeared to be telling upon his fingers the advantages and disadvantages of some scheme he had in contemplation. I don’t know. Be on your guard. Still, his conscience was partly satisfied. Gifts came from Florence: rubies and emeralds, a beautiful statue of Santa Maria for their garden grotto, a gorgeous silk tapestry of a hunting scene that alone made the price of her dowry look paltry.
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