Gianfrancesco took her that night gently, for which she was glad. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. In all these weeks she had not once knelt to pray. ’ She paused, holding her nurse’s eyes. They bickered frequently now as Gianfrancesco protested the prices of things like funeral candles and poultices to comfort the dying. She shook her head, almost breaking a smile. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony.
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