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. Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica. The original passage, Martha had told her, had led only from an upstairs room to one downstairs. “All these days I have taken her for you. ” Anna was thoughtful. Because I’m younger than you. He looked about for his hat, and put it on.
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