The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. ” “You talk strangely, Anna,” he said. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. When Gianfrancesco came to call this time, she was excited and ready. Charity for the ragtag and the bobtail of the Seven Seas, and none for his own flesh and blood. The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. Dead or alive, I'll have him.
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