Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. In a moment he was beside her. ’—he’s frightfully anti-Mendelian—having it all their own way. D'ye hear. She could feel her face turning beet red. Brute! Fool! To have come to her on such an errand. . “You will not even answer my letters. Seeing the footman about to follow her in, Gerald clamped a hand onto his shoulder. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. Not these twenty year. Who could guarantee a safer existence outside Florence? That Sebastian seemed to have a weird immunity to the Pestilence was a trait that went unquestioned, unanswered. Surely he was imagining this picture. Things hung for a moment in an awkward silence.
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