She had no idea what she should do. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. Jack Kimble nodded eagerly. Wood," she continued, with a sudden change of tone, and convulsively clutching the carpenter's arm, "promise it me. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had. Even in her hatred, she began to realize that Sebastian’s intelligence was much greater than Gianfrancesco’s.
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