She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing. It has something to do with the fact that my Mom had them when she was only seventeen. This time she feinted as his point came up to deflect her own, and disengaging, passed under and cut at his cheek. He lifted her from the floor. She knew very well that a new thing was stirring in her. It was most amusing. Father had traveled to Florence to the Mercato Nuovo, staying away for a half year at a time paying court to the house of the silk merchant Iovelli, which was patronized by none other than the Medicis.
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