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. "Gentlemen, a little further off, if you please. I would like to have to tell it so. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet.
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