His face was much handsomer than Gianfrancesco’s, his lips thinner, his brow much more noble and wise. Contests were held every year, the type of which depended on her caprice. Guiding this man of hers over the troubled sea of life had engraved these lines. “You must not think of me as one. ‘They lived with him, one after the other, for all the world as his wife. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home.
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