“How did you hear that?” Lucy’s brows knitted. It was the only time she had ever hit him, punched him right in the stomach like one of his favorite Three Stooges episodes. In a moment or two, Madame Valade recovered her sangfroid. A curious silence ensued. She shivered, more due to his presence than the changing weather. “You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. "There's only one way out of the muddle, that I can see. And he could not return this love. The way—the way we are led on! We are taught to believe we are free in the world, to think we are queens. “I wonder,” he said, and went off at a tangent. She spent many days in the castle alone as he busied himself with his alchemy, or traveled to Florence to visit his remaining political connections. She shut her lips hard, her jaw hardened, and she set herself to struggle with him. Eggs were procured for her, and she sat out the subsequent emotions and eloquence with the dignity becoming an injured lady of good family.
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