She was quite oblivious to the sensation she had created. His face was much handsomer than Gianfrancesco’s, his lips thinner, his brow much more noble and wise. Least of all myself. But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. “I hate this!” Lucy accused him, pointing to the Michelle. But this is all different.
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