“This is the slavery of the veiled life. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. It having been stated that it was wholly impossible he could have removed his irons in the way he represented, he offered, if his handcuffs were replaced, to take them off in the presence of the court. Free! All the fine ecstasy, without the numbing terror. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. Indeed, she did not want to think of him as loving her.
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