“Please, Michelle, let’s not fight. I need only just jump up and throw myself upon you. 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. Very slowly emerging out of a phase of stupefaction, these personal affairs and her personal problem resumed possession of her mind. CHAPTER XVIII.
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