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He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. ‘I do not know your Gérard. “I cannot say more. If you recall, Gianfrancesco’s second cousin had been ransomed by a family they had feuded with for hundreds of years. Were the parents agreeable? Were they of age? Had the license been procured? But here, in a far country, only the velvet manacles of wedlock were necessary. “Believe what, Michelle?” Lucy asked.
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