For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. He was the Napoleon of knavery, and established an uncontrolled empire over all the practitioners of crime. She was alarmed at how little her husband Gianfrancesco packed for the trip, leaving behind his best scarlet and black lucco, which he wore for every business and political meeting. Things were thrown here and there, to be taken up, or again cast aside, as the whim arose; while the broken-backed chairs and crazy table bore the marks of many a conflict. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. A nurse came hurrying up.
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