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. "Well, what sort of journey have you had, Quilt?" asked the man as he hastened to assist Sir Rowland to dismount. “Surely!” he remarked, with an expression of worried appeal. His lips were tight drawn.
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