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xii. written
[ Lucrezia writes in curled letters, more like pictures than text, a little poetry or is it a riddle? ]
πόλυ πάκτιδος ἀδυμελεστέρα χρύσω χρυσοτέρα
[ Meanwhile she is at the laundry room, seated on the floor with her light green gown spread about her. She has both hands on one machine, watching the colors spin through the glass with amazement on her face. Yellows, blues, greens and purples! ]
[ trans.; than the lyre, far sweeter in tone than gold, more golden. ]
πόλυ πάκτιδος ἀδυμελεστέρα χρύσω χρυσοτέρα
[ Meanwhile she is at the laundry room, seated on the floor with her light green gown spread about her. She has both hands on one machine, watching the colors spin through the glass with amazement on her face. Yellows, blues, greens and purples! ]
[ trans.; than the lyre, far sweeter in tone than gold, more golden. ]

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And he will be no woman's husband after the Conclave declared him impotent. [ And Cesare rips out his heart. ]
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Your father is certainly capable, to humiliate a family like the Sforza so deftly.
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I have not asked him what it cost us to free me from such a marriage.
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There are no friends in this Italy of ours.
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Did you come here only to see my face when I deliver you good news?
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I was hoping we might speak about... an important matter.
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A matter concerning...?
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Addressed to whom?
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It feels far too long before she can manage a word. ]
And?
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And if I have none?
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Then you're thoughtless.
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And cruel?
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Ezio sighs and looks away.]
Only if you didn't have a reason for it, which I'd like to believe isn't the truth.
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You know the reason. You only wish me to say it.
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I can never have you for myself but if-- [ Cristina were gone, but that sounds terrible, so she just stops to collect her breathing. ] But I was wrong to hope.
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that is the saddest thought process ever :( lucreziaaaaa
it's not completely unfounded ):
that's what makes it the saddest :(
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