A boy no older than she, Gianfrancesco’s cousin, whispered what he would like to do to her when she stole into the hallways near the women’s chambers to fix herself. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. "Manuscripts! Why, this chap is a writer, or is trying to be. “Of course I will,” he answered. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. His employer retreated into the further apartment, leaving the door ajar. And if I don’t, I go mad.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ3LjEyNi4yNDIgLSAyOS0wNi0yMDI0IDE5OjMwOjExIC0gODU0MDU2NzAw
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