She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. If only this child were his: what good times they would have together! The thought passed on, but it left a little ache in his heart. There was more to be told, and this was as good a time as any. "My demeanour ought to convince you that I came with no hostile intention.
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