Water soaked her through in five minutes. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. 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. “Home, of course,” she answered. The Jew got in first. “It’s too bad. ” He replied. " "Hurt her? It would tear her to pieces; God knows she has had enough. ’ ‘But she must have known I’d longed to hear of you. She was definitely following him. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua.
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