She wished she could steal his smiles and keep them in a box, they had always been so precious. I wanted to speak to you first. 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. It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark. Mind you don't stir till supper's over. He knew she was out there, he could feel it. A gust of irrational impatience blew through her being.
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