She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. When she awoke she felt as if she were adrift on a soft cloud through a golden sky. I'll dispose of the brat. Even in her hatred, she began to realize that Sebastian’s intelligence was much greater than Gianfrancesco’s. I just suppose it isn’t worth the trouble. She had not felt comfortable in his presence from the first, and with Leonardo’s precepts in mind, was loath to trust him.
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