Chapter XXI HER SISTER’S SECRET “I think,” Lady Ferringhall said, “that you are talking very foolishly. They bickered frequently now as Gianfrancesco protested the prices of things like funeral candles and poultices to comfort the dying. Stay where you are, Mr. Wagner had just been in love when he wrote it all. He frowned. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin.
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