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 see, aunt, it’s the only possible way for me to get a good degree in my subjects, and father won’t hear of it. ’ ‘What heir?’ ‘Exactly. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. ’ Mrs Sindlesham abruptly sat up straighter in her chair.
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