" "Poor soul!" ejaculated her son. Gianfrancesco ran from the room, tearing at his hair. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. Gianfrancesco had told her about it, how he had played in it as a child with his brothers. “Lucy, that’s horrible. \" She said, and they walked down the pebble stone path designed for joggers and bikers. .
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