He hung vaguely for a moment as she passed. But the general was turning on him, the hint of emotion wiped from his lined features. 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. I know how bad it feels. To find the true father at the expense of the beautiful fairy tale Ruth had woven around the woman in the locket was an intolerable thought.
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