“How do you feel?” she asked. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. He had thought it might have that effect. Not once during the ceremony did the two look at each other, but riveted their gaze upon the lips of the man who was forging the bands: gazed intensively, as if they feared the world might vanish before the last word of the ceremony was spoken. She nodded. One little minute with soap and water, voilà tout.
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