‘And I do not know why you are so polite, when you have been bad to me last night, and have taken my dagger. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. Something to tell you. Hastily ascending these steps, Jack found the door, as he anticipated, locked. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat.
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