"But what is an oath to you!" cried the widow, distrustfully. He did not like it, he said, with a significant look, to be reminded of either his books or his dinners after he had done with them. Who could guarantee a safer existence outside Florence? That Sebastian seemed to have a weird immunity to the Pestilence was a trait that went unquestioned, unanswered. She felt herself getting into a corner. She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights.
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