He was braver than her husband, who paced and cowered in the corners of the once-sunny Palazzo. Every one looked at Anna. Profligate women are never reclaimed. She chuckled. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. But at least it gave her more time. Her clock had stopped—stopped at the very hour on which she had quitted the Mint! She had not the heart to wind it up again.
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