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Man's fate is in his own hands. ’ Emile reached out both hands and grasped her shoulders. Tom swore he hadn't set eyes on him since the trial. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine. He seemed wholly insensible to the rain, though it presently descended in torrents, and continued his search as ardently as before. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son.
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