"Read this letter as if it were my love testament," wrote pert Clara Petacci to her paramour, "because it is the last one that you will get ... If sometimes I felt in me the desperate attempt to free myself of this amorous viseremember how you hurt methose were waves of revolt . . .
against you who did not understand me, against your incurable lechery . . . Now is really the end."
Alas for poor, weak, indecisive Clara, it was nothing of the kind. Her love and her letters continued to pour forth...
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