It was easy to discern Gianfrancesco’s mood. Steeples toppled, and towers reeled beneath its fury. “Who, me? I scare you?” He asked. There must be something we can do. “I made two fruit pies and now I have no one to eat them. This is altogether insupportable. ‘It was your son who left the place empty then?’ he asked. I thought if you were living, and not captured, I should find you here,—and I was right.
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