"What's that to you?" retorted Jack, surlily. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. ‘I thought—I thought I saw my—my husband. Anna stepped back at once with a little gasp of relief. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua. He died when I was. “It jars.
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