CHAPTER XXVII. 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. John spent the first weeks of summer backpacking in Europe, and she heard occasional news from Michelle of his whereabouts. His thoughts, indeed, were too painful for utterance, and so acute were his feelings, that, for some time, they quite overcame him. . ’ Melusine hit lightly at his chest.
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