He nodded. Instead, he was bowing to her greataunt. Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes. “Yes,” he said, “I want to get away. I am guilty practically of the impertinence of coming to ask you whether I misunderstood your sister. His noble Florentine roots went back a thousand years, to the days of grand Rome herself.
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