She could hardly remember his face except for his brown hair, thick lips, and narrow dark eyes. She ran away after she had divined that Gianfrancesco had remarried. For the first time in her life she had heard music; the door to enchanted sounds had been flung wide. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage.
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