It doesn’t matter. It generalized everything she put to it. She spent many days in the castle alone as he busied himself with his alchemy, or traveled to Florence to visit his remaining political connections. "I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. Coming from the gloom of the passage, even the corridors seemed sufficiently illuminated for them to see their way. Knives were worse, especially when you were stabbed back and left traces of your own blood at the crime scene.
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