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. "Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. "This letter will vouch for me that a communication has taken place between your enemies. I suppose that shocks one’s ideas.
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