She forgot Anna’s sacrifices, forgot her own callousness, forgot the burden which she had fastened upon her sister’s shoulders. The entire city seemed to exist for beauty and art alone. Manning loved her presented itself to her bloodlessly, stilled from any imaginative quiver or thrill of passion or disgust. Gianfrancesco ran from the room, tearing at his hair. Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score. "Where did you learn the song I heard just now?" he demanded, in an authoritative tone.
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