How I envied Gianfrancesco on his wedding night, how I writhed in agony just thinking 171 about his intimacies with you! Then you became pregnant, and there he was, posturing and gloating like the rest of the family, my divinations of a boy in your womb pronounced. He called a waiter. Funk! I’ll see it out. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force.
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