She ran down alleyways and between buildings, faster than an Olympian, until she could hear his voice no more. They simply understood there was a greater need to get over the past than to talk about it. But I’d have done it without, though it weren’t my place. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. “How dare you!” she panted, with her world screaming and grimacing insult at her. Mere formality.
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