God bless you, Auntie! I'll go into the mills and make pulp with my bare hands, if you want me to. You can live just about how you like. How I envied Gianfrancesco on his wedding night, how I writhed in agony just thinking 171 about his intimacies with you! Then you became pregnant, and there he was, posturing and gloating like the rest of the family, my divinations of a boy in your womb pronounced. Holcroft, we may have been mistaken.
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