” “Why? What did Missy ever do to piss her off? What did I do?” Lucy asked, growing defensive. ” He left the room, and she stood motionless, with flaming cheeks, listening to his retreating footsteps. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua. I’ve had a lot on my mind. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. B.
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