She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. I want to shout! I want to sing! I am glad! I am glad to be alive because you are alive! I am glad to be a woman because you are a man! I am glad! I am glad! I am glad! I thank God for life and you. Perhaps my wife has already prepared you for what I wish to say. Speak lower. This also struck her as odd. Father had traveled to Florence to the Mercato Nuovo, staying away for a half year at a time paying court to the house of the silk merchant Iovelli, which was patronized by none other than the Medicis. Below was an uninspiring street, a thoroughfare of boarding-houses and apartments. Here a little delay occurred. Anna was sitting before the fire a little distance from him—Ennison himself remained standing. “What were you trying to do?” Lucy asked.
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