With his black and gray hair, his gray-green eyes were a striking contrast and he looked even younger, as if he had been frozen at age thirty-three. "Ay, indeed! And who may that be?" inquired his wife. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. Only I do not care to write about anything else. If you talk of your faults, I shall talk of your splendors.
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