‘Well! I hadn’t no notion as he’d got hisself married again. Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. Let me have a word with him, and you may take all the money. Pity you aren’t under my command. Besides, she had admitted her identity. She cleaned everything, wiped every surface, mopped and scrubbed every last drop of blood. They bickered frequently now as Gianfrancesco protested the prices of things like funeral candles and poultices to comfort the dying. .
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