As she sat the bride actually woke up, sat up, and looked frightfully around the room. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. She meditated profoundly through several enormous cold hours on all that had happened and all that she had done since the swirl of the suffrage movement had submerged her personal affairs. Was she interested in that young ass who was risking his bones over there in the city? They had come up on the same boat.
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