Part 8 And as she sat on her bed that night, musing and half-undressed, she began to run one hand down her arm and scrutinize the soft flow of muscle under her skin. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. Spurling. White looked mysteriously about the room as though to be sure that no one was listening. “Thank goodness!” said that retreating aspect, “that’s said and over. His build was medium, he would never 5 tower over his peers, yet his shoulders were broadening, betrayed by an undeveloped set of pectoral muscles underneath his button-down shirt that she could tell frustrated him. Relief flooded her.
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