We aren't between him and heaven; he is between us and heaven. White, who held out her hand and beamed a welcome upon him. Father had traveled to Florence to the Mercato Nuovo, staying away for a half year at a time paying court to the house of the silk merchant Iovelli, which was patronized by none other than the Medicis. He eyed the young couple with the tragic history behind them, and could only suppose that familiarity had dulled their senses.
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