“That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. The farmer had become obsessed with her and asked her to marry. ” She laughed. “Why would she do that? Why does she care? That’s a waste of her time.
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