Entering the house, he found himself in a narrow passage leading to the back stairs. In the midst of the holy place, which he had formerly profaned, lay the body of his unfortunate mother, and he could not help looking upon her untimely end as the retributive vengeance of Heaven for the crime he had committed. “I’ve tried to make words tell it. She was always breaking rules, whispering asides, intimating signals. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. Hers were less noble, yet stately. Manning called. Wait a little; rest.
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