“I don’t think you can have heard me, Vee,” he said, with intensely controlled fury. “You found the cabochon? After all these years?” He asked, incredulous. His kind eyes were puffy with fatigue. They bickered frequently now as Gianfrancesco protested the prices of things like funeral candles and poultices to comfort the dying. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. Look at these walls. She approached a soft-looking bespectacled girl she had seen once in the halls and noticed for her haunted look.
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