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. He envied her a little. I’ll have to make a visit out of town. They had been playing tennis, with his manifest intention looming over her. ” “Too much character, and too little sentiment,” he answered. Of this I'm certain, however, she was much too good for him, and was never meant to be a journeyman carpenter's wife, still less what is she now.
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