At the bottom of the trunk I found two of my mother's dresses. Their faces had bite marks that were hers. News was sent back home, and in October, Marina traveled to Florence to live with her daughter again. My first visit will be to you. I don’t think of you as a kid. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside.
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