The lad hesitated. And I'll have supper with you. 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 are my friend,” she said, “if any one is. And so gentle as the poor creature is, when she's not in her wild fits—it would melt a heart of stone to see her. The picture of her flashed across the doctor's vision magically.
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