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 know not what you do. She appeared not to have realised the implications of her outburst, but clung a little to Gerald’s hands which had taken hers in a comforting clasp. Annabel thought, and thought again. ’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. " At this juncture, the door opened, and Thames entered the room.
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