She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Gianfrancesco was not ugly, in fact, perhaps he was rather handsome after all. Her hair had begun to grow back, it now swept to her shoulders. His face clouded with anger. Advancing to the middle of the chamber, he halted, drew himself up, and fixed his dark, expressive eyes, on Thames Darrell.
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