Smith. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. “What’s wrong with having witchcraft books? Is she afraid that the Princeton Hill villagers will burn you at stake?” Lucy asked sarcastically. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. They talked lightly but confidentially until Sir John approached them with a slight frown upon his face. "My horses, Charcam," he said, as a servant appeared. Father had traveled to Florence to the Mercato Nuovo, staying away for a half year at a time paying court to the house of the silk merchant Iovelli, which was patronized by none other than the Medicis. Her mother had prepared her for everything. .
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