Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. Gianfrancesco had told her about it, how he had played in it as a child with his brothers. Oriental rugs adorned the sea of shiny hardwood floors, kept polished with an eye for detail that bordered on Japanese. "What is he gone there for?" "With a message to the turnkey to look after his prisoner," replied Wild, with a cunning smile. Here was not the individual against whom she had been warned. ‘Come, I am concerned merely for your safety, you know.
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