His face was much handsomer than Gianfrancesco’s, his lips thinner, his brow much more noble and wise. She could hear the raucous laughter and bad music below. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. One might have said that these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving, refused to bear. He stood before her.
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