The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city. I want to talk to you, and I must return tomorrow. 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. Back, that you may be close together. That wasn’t even the worst thing.
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