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. "You are angry?" "Very. ‘A word, if you please, my friend. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. ‘You keep a-hold of him,’ Trodger ordered his men. ” Michelle gave a pained expression.
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