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"Well," said the Duc, with that outward calmness of manner which anger often affects; "so you do not like me? I am sorry for your bad taste! and I bid you good night, quite convinced that you will repent your refusal; and I dare say you will never get married at all." So saying, he left the terrace; while Francesca remained for a few minutes, bewildered by the suddenness of the scene, and half inclined to laugh at the Duc's parting denunciation.