It was easy to discern Gianfrancesco’s mood. She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips. I can smell you. "God in Heaven!" he cried, "the floor is covered with blood. It was a society column about the richest men in the world and their lavish parties.
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