I’ve just seen him. Gianfrancesco became agitated. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. “Going to visit our little friend the vampire?” “What?” He asked, incredulous. The inner apartment was rather gracefully furnished with a thick, fine Turkish carpet, a good brass fender, a fine old bureau, and on the walls were engravings of two young girls’ heads by Greuze, and of some modern picture of boys bathing in a sunlit pool. And, dragging Mrs. She cocked her head. It was his heart.
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