"Don't you know me, mother?" "Ah!" shrieked Mrs. I was just like a sort of dummy that does things as it is told—that is to say, as the strings are pulled. How I envied Gianfrancesco on his wedding night, how I writhed in agony just thinking 171 about his intimacies with you! Then you became pregnant, and there he was, posturing and gloating like the rest of the family, my divinations of a boy in your womb pronounced. Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it.
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