Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. Then blackness. He had found her in a communicative mood, and he used the accumulated skill of years in turning that to account. "Because it's not like you," was her answer. He felt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as she leaned over him.
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