" "Six," he corrected. The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. " "I can't exactly say, Sir Rowland. For a few moments, Thames regarded the little girl through the half-opened door in silence. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua. “You understand, then,” he was saying, “you understand?” “I understand,” said Ann Veronica, tear-wet and flushed with a reciprocal passion, but standing up to him with an equality that amazed even herself, “I understand. “This is wonderful! I’ve been feeling that you had vanished from my world.
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