The nuns, they were very good with a whip. The Plague raced through the city and the Palazzo, consuming it like fire. As a net result she had come to think of all married people much as one thinks of insects that have lost their wings, and of her sisters as new hatched creatures who had scarcely for a moment had wings. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. She must weigh her situation.
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