They bickered frequently now as Gianfrancesco protested the prices of things like funeral candles and poultices to comfort the dying. There’d only be endless rows if I was at home. Cheveney walked away with a shrug of the shoulders. She was too late. “You, anyhow, don’t deserve it,” he said. I watched you wait at the farmhouse! But I couldn’t compromise your safety! You must have realized that!” She lowered her voice to a loud whisper. “I really do not believe,” he announced with satisfaction, “that any one would recognize me. ‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid. She got out of bed, her eyes still half-closed, and stood slack jawed.
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