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. ‘I do not understand you. A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. The well of tears in her eyes was dry. His body had been maimed many times.
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