She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. " "What's the meaning of all this?" demanded Sir Cecil. She was pensive and thoughtful. Little by little, she stopped hating him. His face was much handsomer than Gianfrancesco’s, his lips thinner, his brow much more noble and wise. “And we will sail that splendor wide, From day to day together, From isle to isle of happiness Through year’s of God’s own weather.
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