Her straight strawberry blonde hair was exactly Cathy’s. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. “We have,” he said, “to be the utmost friends. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. We'll get those books into your room first. Most unsatisfactory. Then she raised the glass nearer to her lips.
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