A boy no older than she, Gianfrancesco’s cousin, whispered what he would like to do to her when she stole into the hallways near the women’s chambers to fix herself. I keep on thinking of little details and aspects of your voice, your eyes, the way you walk, the way your hair goes back from the side of your forehead. They are more base then the animals and cannot be suffered to live, do you understand?” She nodded. The Night-Cellar XVIII.
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