But, holy smoke!—the Yale spirit in…. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. She had grabbed! She became less and less attentive to his meditative, self-complacent fragments of talk as she told herself this. Her confession was still unmade. “But, forgive me, you are tired. Gifts came from Florence: rubies and emeralds, a beautiful statue of Santa Maria for their garden grotto, a gorgeous silk tapestry of a hunting scene that alone made the price of her dowry look paltry. “There is no doubt whatever about that. It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident. . ” She laid her hand softly upon his. His noble Florentine roots went back a thousand years, to the days of grand Rome herself. But it was almost choked up with fallen stacks of chimneys, broken beams of timber, and shattered tiles. And then she fell into a musing about Capes.
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