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. Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book. Clement's church. “When can we be alone together?” She asked him, never loosening her grip. ’ ‘That is not your affair. I love you all the more for the streak of sheer devil in you. .
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