Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. She’s obsessed with him, you know, totally obsessed. With his foodle doo! This carpenter he had a wife, The plague and torment of his life, Who, though she did her husband scold, Loved well a woollen-draper bold. I tried. The Plague raced through the city and the Palazzo, consuming it like fire.
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