Never mind. He's an interpretative genius, if there ever was one. "I had one," answered his sister, in a mournful voice; "and, perhaps, I have one still. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle.
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