” Michelle’s voice lowered to a whisper. 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. “Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely. " "You may see the marks on the child yourself, if you choose, Sir," urged the widow. \"Yes, she may stay for dinner if it is all right with her 43 parents. And you think I would marry you?’ ‘Why not? I am unworthy, eh? Because I am a servant. . ’ She flounced back to stare out of the window again. Washed in light from the vestry window, she held her ground, all thought at bay, bar the steel determination long ago instilled in her by her unconventional tutor. " "But, Mac.
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