Running his hand carefully over it in search of the lock, he perceived to his dismay that it was fastened on the other side. Gianfrancesco ran from the room, tearing at his hair. ‘You do not dare look in my clothes. The veranda bamboo will be enough for me. He was never known to err, and was as much dreaded as the jailfever in consequence. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance.
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