Battle, murder, and sudden death—and an old chap like McClintock tuning his piano in the midst of it. Gianfrancesco had been talked into the arrangement only because the drivers that had handled the job for generations were sick or dead. Time after time he reminded her of how powerless she would be without him, how unkind the world was towards single women. “Dear friend,” she said, “this is a matter which you must leave to me to do as I think best. I have never in my life been so much puzzled by any one as by your sister.
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