Michelle's home was one of the smaller palaces, made solidly of red brick with charming black shutters and window boxes full of drooping violets. All right really. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. They were wed in Florence, in the grandest cathedral she had ever seen, the Santa Maria del Fiore. They entered a hansom and turned on to the Embankment.
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