How I envied Gianfrancesco on his wedding night, how I writhed in agony just thinking 171 about his intimacies with you! Then you became pregnant, and there he was, posturing and gloating like the rest of the family, my divinations of a boy in your womb pronounced. I killed him, Nigel. Unconscious that his movements were watched, Shotbolt, meanwhile, hastened towards Wych Street. ’ He sat up. That is why I have dyed my hair, that is why I have abandoned my rôle of ingenuèe and altered my whole style of dress. “There’s the classes,” said Constance, the well-informed. I had two slices. Sudden indignation boiled up in him. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster.
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