His pale and boyish waist was nearly as slim as her own. He was braver than her husband, who paced and cowered in the corners of the once-sunny Palazzo. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. “He was a friend of your sister’s, was he not?” “I never heard her mention his name,” she answered.
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