She could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge. Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, and there was so much that struggled for expression. She ran away after she had divined that Gianfrancesco had remarried. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped. She had never been able to discover where her father had hidden his shaving mirror. Perhaps at the first blush—it strikes you as odd. Her moods were many and always striking.
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