She wanted to live. She was surprised and stared at him when he did not immediately leave the bed as Gianfrancesco always did, but instead rested on his elbows. He was a young man of about two-and-twenty, who, without having anything remarkable either in dress or appearance, was yet a noticeable person, if only for the indescribable expression of cunning pervading his countenance. There was, it might be said, a double illumination. Everything in the world to live for!—fame that he could not reap, love that he must not take! What was all this pother about hell as a future state? By and by things began to stir on the table: little invisible things.
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