Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. She had called the police on them anonymously. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. The coach in which the prisoner had been conveyed was already broken to pieces, and the driver was glad to escape with life. Beyond was a field sloping steeply upwards, and at the top a small pine plantation. ‘You would have a history of my life? Very well.
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