Her body was perpetually tanned, despite the approach of winter. “I thank you for your advice,” she said. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. She shuddered; the room was unfamiliar and unwelcoming. I’ve wanted you—always. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him? “It isn’t all of me. Anna was singing as she used to sing.
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