The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. ‘That there governess didn’t like it, of course, me being the lodgekeeper’s girl, and Martha just a country wench like me. She heard Gianfrancesco arguing with Sebastianus. Because she states her case in a tangle, drags it through swamps of nonsense, it doesn’t alter the fact that she is right.
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