” The cabman, knocking with the butt end of his whip upon the window, reminded her that he was in a similar predicament. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. I quickly ingratiated myself to Gianfrancesco, playing on his insecurities, drawing from his need for more and more power. ‘To go to these Charvill, it was not in my plot.
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