” He handed her the phone reluctantly, barely masking his mild disgust. ‘That’s better,’ said Gerald, and let her go. I’ll have it out with him. I've a shrewd guess where he's taken refuge; but I'll ferret him out. Peste, but everything had become difficult. The father was a madman. In doing so, he had to clamber up the immense heap of bricks and rubbish which now littered the floor, amounting almost to a car-load, and reaching up nearly to the top of the chimney-piece. Yet her hands dropped, and she sighed deeply. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua.
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