For a few minutes he kept them at bay. "I shall want nothing more. But he died when he was a child—long ago—long ago—long ago. She could still smell the now familiar scent of him on the girl's body in the makeshift grave. With one or two exceptions, there were no pews; and, as the intercourse with London was then but slight, the seats were occupied almost exclusively by the villagers. Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once.
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