She drew her naked arms around herself. “A man who does not touch his wife, who ignores his wife, what kind of man is he? I am not sick any more. ” So they talked on whilst supper was served, falling easily into the spirit of the place, and yet both of them conscious of some new thing underlying the gaiety of their tongues and manner. She stepped backwards. ” “Don’t say that,” Sydney begged. 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.
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