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. “In a sense—yes. ‘Not another caller will I receive this day. ’ ‘Without permission. "But I like Bobby Burns best. ” She propped herself up on the massive oaken post of the bed, feeling the paralysis tingle her legs as it left them ever so slowly.
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