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. And I've made up my mind that a husband ought to believe only half that he hears, and nothing that he sees. —I'll give him the edication of a prig,—teach him the use of his forks betimes,—and make him, in the end, as clever a cracksman as his father. ‘You think so? Well, if that’s so, I know where she gets her impudence, Prudence Sindlesham.
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