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Lucy grabbed his shirtsleeve, whispering on tiptoe. A message was dispatched from Florence that she was to again receive her future husband. “For luck. Ah, no, I have it wrong. ” “I’m sorry. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. A militiaman came belting down the stairs, another leapt from outside the front door, and a third, stalwart and stolid, came in through the door that led to the rooms to the front of the house.
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