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. Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. "It is time!" "For what?" grumbled the latter, rubbing his eyes. "There, he's as safe as Jack Sheppard in the Condemned Hould," laughed the man.
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