So absorbed was she by her passionate supplications that she was insensible to anything passing around her, until she felt a touch upon her shoulder, and heard a well-known voice breathe in her ear—"Mother!" She started at the sound as if an apparition had called her, screamed, and fell into her son's outstretched arms. The well of tears in her eyes was dry. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. He stooped to recover it, and his face was hidden. He hated horizons. “Dear old Daddy,” she said, “he’ll make a fearful fuss. The title had formerly been held by Gianfrancesco’s brother, Alessia, now dead of plague. Sebastian drew over to her and lifted her chin from her chest.
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