If you recall, Gianfrancesco’s second cousin had been ransomed by a family they had feuded with for hundreds of years. He did not have to. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. “Which one?” “The one whose life you have been making a burden, who has been all the time shielding her sister.
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