But that was soon put right, and she walked out into London with a peculiar exaltation of mind, an exaltation that partook of panic and defiance, but was chiefly a sense of vast unexampled release. . She stuffed her violin in its case and rushed into the hallway towards John, who stood outside of 118 with his arms crossed. They were wed in Florence, in the grandest cathedral she had ever seen, the Santa Maria del Fiore. There he stands. Or perhaps my father once. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him.
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