It is the horse of the priest, you understand, and—and he does not know that I have borrowed it. I don’t want to get old or to watch my kids get married or retire. Far away there was the one woman for this boy of mine—some human being who would understand the dear fool better than all the rest of the world. Father had traveled to Florence to the Mercato Nuovo, staying away for a half year at a time paying court to the house of the silk merchant Iovelli, which was patronized by none other than the Medicis. It was no wonder, there was no money to buy food for the house. She dismissed the whole subject with a little shrug of the shoulders.
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