He went in there, and he was in there for a good half hour. He beamed as she whispered to 22 him that she had seen a table so fine or tasted such wonders. His breath grew shallower as he approached the room, conscious of the loudness of his hallway-reverberated footfalls. Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. I have nothing, nothing that can possibly be passion for you. “What did it matter?” she cried.
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