“Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. "Where can I hide myself?" he added, glancing round the room in search of a closet. That there Frenchie didn’t look any too friendly to me. “Well?” she said. . She had always had a wonderful ear for phrasing, even back in the days of the viol. A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. The title had formerly been held by Gianfrancesco’s brother, Alessia, now dead of plague.
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