You cannot care for her. . "Why it is astonishing, certainly," remarked Kneebone, "to find any woman constant—especially to a girlish attachment; but such is the case. “Oh dear, I’m not dressed. 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. Perhaps, after all, the others were right. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. She was alarmed at how little her husband Gianfrancesco packed for the trip, leaving behind his best scarlet and black lucco, which he wore for every business and political meeting. You will be—my wife.
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