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. So good an opportunity may never occur again. She found herself alone in the train asking herself what she must do next, and trying not to think of herself as cut off from home or any refuge whatever from the world she had resolved to face. Wood could stand it no longer. "All right. “No! I want to do without that. “I’m sorry! Mary! Are you hurt?” “No.
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