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. ‘You wish to tell me something? Parbleu, I have nearly forgot once more. She was saying good-bye to childhood and home, and her making; she was going out into the great, multitudinous world; this time there would be no returning.
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