And Rollo, who had been waiting for some encouraging sound, presented himself at the doorway. " The Wastrel laughed. 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. He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support.
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