I thought he was in Newgate. He would pick a random member of the ever-shifting household for the sake of example. The manager stared at the empty doorway for a space, shrugged, and returned to his ledgers. He then unfolded his choice and held it before her face. But she was staring seaward and did not notice the offering. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. Also he had said—laughing in that way with his eyes which made a flutter in her chest— that Prudence will find an Englishman to marry her. The terrific mental tension of the past few months —that had held his bodily nourishment in a kind of strangulation—became as a dream; and now his vitals responded rapidly to food and air. Gianfrancesco ran from the room, tearing at his hair.
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