When she arrived at the Palazzo, not a single sentry was aware of her presence. One of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool. The boy she had loved was gone. The two friends contrasted strikingly with each other. “Mike, that’s not even remotely funny.
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