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. Wood gave the required promise, though he could not help thinking that if either of them had cause to be jealous he was the party. We’ve done nothing to deserve it. The militiaman at once thrust the old man between the shoulder blades, pushing him into the kitchen. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. Sheppard, who seemed to be crouching upon the floor. ‘Alors, you make a game with me, I see that.
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