" The Gate, which crossed Newgate Street, had a wide arch for carriages, and a postern, on the north side, for footpassengers. His attitude was as different from Gianfrancesco’s as night was from day. Even in her own sorry skin-and-bones state of wraithlike pallor and gray under eye circles she was drawing unwanted attention from would-be admirers. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat.
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