You have the gift of words, but you haven't started to create yet. Anna came back into the sitting-room with a little sigh of relief. Come into the parlour, Winifred, and dry your eyes directly, or I'll send you to bed. The man looked hard at him. 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. The doctor sensed that his bolt had gone wrong, but he could not tell how or why.
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