Within ten minutes he had read much more than had greeted his eye. Hill was seated. “Didn’t you just get over an ear infection not two weeks ago? You’re asking for another one. ‘If you care for me at all, shoot me. . Why don’t you make sure before you rush out like that upon a stranger?” “You were with my wife,” Hill repeated sullenly. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua.
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