Perhaps she was. Paris was full, and it was by no means a retired spot which she had found. Sooner or later we’ll certainly do something to clean those prisons you told me about—limewash the underside of life. Who could guarantee a safer existence outside Florence? That Sebastian seemed to have a weird immunity to the Pestilence was a trait that went unquestioned, unanswered. The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust.
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