She was alarmed at how little her husband Gianfrancesco packed for the trip, leaving behind his best scarlet and black lucco, which he wore for every business and political meeting. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. ‘Let’s check the rest of it and then I suppose we will have to break in.
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