“I remember you now,” he said. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua. But this was not a season in which to be needlessly scrupulous. What a God-forsaken fool he was! And dimly, out there somewhere in the South Seas—the beach! Already he sensed the fascination of the inevitable; and with this fascination came the idea of haste, to get there quickly and have done. She would just walk out of the house and go.
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