A gaunt, powerful man: no feature of his face decided, and yet for all that it had the significance of a countenance hewn out of rock. 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. Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica. By this time, she had so far succeeded in calming herself, that she answered the greetings of the neighbours whom she encountered on her way to the sacred edifice—if sorrowfully, still composedly. White, my landlady, believes his story. But I wrapped it in that nun’s gear you give me. . " "I imagine I've been in a kind of trance.
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