Something is feeding upon them. 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. ‘Oh, dearie me, I wish I’d never told you anything about it,’ lamented the nun, moving to the only chair the vestry possessed and sinking down into it. Insulting cries became frequent and various, but for the most part she could not understand what was said. “I am giving my understudy a chance. ” “You do not understand me at all,” she declared. If there is any drinking, I'll do it.
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