She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. To him she had always appeared as a mere pleasure-loving parasite—something quite insignificant. It makes no difference. He cupped her small hands in the bowl of his large ones and reassured her in the kindest manner, saying, “You will have the finest life that Florence has to offer. ” She seemed unmoved, but she did not look at him.
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