Apart from everything else, this meeting of ours is a breach of a good rule. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. ‘I kissed you once, didn’t I?’ Her pulses jumped and she stared. This man has an evil reputation. ‘Parbleu,’ came indignantly from the lady. Oddly, he was seldom angry with her as Gianfrancesco would have been. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated.
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