“You appear,” she said, without any sign of anger in her tone, and with unruffled composure, “to be a very impertinent person. ‘Your mystery lady, I mean. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower. The thought of them distressed her without subtracting at all from the oceans of happiness in which she swam. ’ ‘A convent?’ echoed Gerald with interest.
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