She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. ” “Don’t use such a word, my dear young lady,” Mr. Prudence shook her head. 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 discussion wandered, and was punctuated with bread and butter.
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