Love and lavender, he thought, perhaps wistfully. Neither you nor your mother shall escape me. Jackson’s. I’ll give you grandpére!’ ‘But milor’—’ ‘Pardon!’ No longer master of his actions, the general lurched forward, waving his cane. Shouting to his companion, even as they passed by where I hid myself, he called out that he thought to find you at the convent. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat.
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