All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. If you know her for the vicious, scheming wretch that she is, why in God’s name—?’ ‘She’s not a vicious, scheming wretch,’ Gerald said calmly. Gianfrancesco’s had curved differently and was darker. It seems to me exactly what is wanted. Beyond was a narrow bridge, crossing a circular building, at the bottom of which lay a deep well. She felt like Snow White in a secret forest house populated by dwarves. But this is all different. So they fenced with smiles.
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