Gianfrancesco had told her about it, how he had played in it as a child with his brothers. "Eggs for me! You mistake, child. It was rude and disrespectful to raise her eyes to him, her mother had warned. She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury.
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