She battled with a deadly faintness, and she tottered rather than walked back to her seat. Bête, she told herself fiercely. She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass. . Like the nuns, she hardly ever looked in a mirror. Such revelations she hoped would be considered out of place and inappropriate. They bickered frequently now as Gianfrancesco protested the prices of things like funeral candles and poultices to comfort the dying. He saw the flames burst from the windows, and perhaps in that maddening spectacle suffered torture equivalent to some of the crimes he had committed.
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