In a hall used to having soldiers and city-people coming and going, the sound echoes off the high ceilings, through the arches into the adjoining rooms; who can say how deep it goes? Ezio lets him go, closing the door and following behind.
"It was my uncle's," he replies. "He was a condottiere –– a mercenary lord."
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"It was my uncle's," he replies. "He was a condottiere –– a mercenary lord."