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. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. “After all,” he said, “I am not sure that you are not a very material person. Anything that might stir the sense of love And God has mocked me through it all. She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master. There was a pause, and then the front door slammed. And he had good reason before long to congratulate himself on his forbearance. ‘But the major—’ ‘The major can say nothing at all. You look very handsome. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine. I am clear I want you. “Is Lady Lescelles in?” he asked the butler.
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