The sea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he had ever seen. She spent many days in the castle alone as he busied himself with his alchemy, or traveled to Florence to visit his remaining political connections. “What do you mean, hanging round with my wife?” he answered fiercely. “I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk. We must wash out those stains up stairs, and burn the cloth.
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