1. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. ‘Who has begun this but you?’ Gerald barely heard her. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. But though he made Blueskin and Kettleby his chief marks, he missed both. It dawned upon him that he had been abominably used by Ann Veronica.
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