“John, we should be getting out of here. 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. Though within the last two days he had committed several heinous offences, and one of a darker dye than any with which the reader has been made acquainted, his breast was not yet so callous as to be wholly insensible to the stings of conscience. Not far from the entrance, on the left, was a sort of screen, or partition-wall, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, formed of thick oaken planks riveted together by iron bolts, and studded with broad-headed nails. Jonathan threw open the street-door. Two children, who had been caught in the jam-closet: ingratiating smiles, back of which lay doubt and fear. I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. ” “And what do you think I ought to do?” “Exactly!” He lifted a paper-weight and dabbed it gently down again.
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