” “Perhaps I don’t. All the rest of our lives would be together then, Ann Veronica. 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. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care. What lends a tragic mockery to all these tender traps of hers was that she was within lawful bounds. She was only trying to distract you so that she might escape. ” “Oh no,” said Ann Veronica; “I have some work to do. I must!” She threw open the door and pointed to it. Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically. .
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