The carpenter threw himself flat upon the starling to avoid the fury of the wind. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you so badly,’ he said, still meeting her eyes, unaware that his hold about her hand had tightened a little. She is no longer mine; she is yours. “Do you know him?” Lucy replied, “No, I haven’t met him. You think you love this other man! No doubt you do love him. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. There are pretty much three types, those that accept, and those who run away, and those who fight. He doesn't resemble you at all.
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