“They mould one insensibly. It was an impulse. ‘You damned little fool! How dared you steal my sword?’ Her eyes flew open. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. Gianfrancesco had told her about it, how he had played in it as a child with his brothers. ‘He’d have been that happy if he’d known how you’re the spit of her, miss. At the bottom of the trunk I found two of my mother's dresses.
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