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. “Please, stay a while longer. The Wastrel did not relish this. That’s the difficulty. “May I be allowed to say,” he declared, “that I came here with the same intention. ’ ‘True enough,’ nodded Martha sadly. She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. “Promise me that you’ll never tell another living soul, John. Alarmed by the noise of the scuffle, Quilt and Sharples rushed to the assistance of their comrade.
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