"Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. They trudged and talked, and Manning struggled, as he said, to “get the hang of it all. Couldn’t make head nor tail of that note of yours. Her wedding gown! She wondered if the spirit of the unknown mother looked down upon her. She spent many days in the castle alone as he busied himself with his alchemy, or traveled to Florence to visit his remaining political connections. Somewhere in the world there was a book clerk with a discerning mind; for he had given her the best he had.
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