She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. “You no longer belong to Gianfrancesco. She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions.
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