” “They were my posters,” Annabel said. . But how close? She glanced about at the shrouded furnishings for possible cover. 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. He was just as much a greater master than any other I ever saw, as he was a greater judge of time and measure.
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