She didn’t trust Gianfrancesco, you know, she called him a ‘bad husband’. The air, perfumed with the delicious fragrance of the new-mown grass, was vocal with the melodies of the birds; the thick foliage of the trees was glistening in the sunshine; all nature seemed happy and rejoicing; but, above all, the serene Sabbath stillness reigning around communicated a calm to her wounded spirit. Tea in the laboratory was a sort of suffragette reception. But he had been forewarned by his great-nephew. ’ “Crude, I admit.
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