The man pulled up his horse grumbling, and turned round. And, though neither peace nor innocence can be restored to my bosom; though tears cannot blot out my offences, nor sorrow drown my shame; yet, knowing that my penitence is sincere, I do not despair that my transgressions may be forgiven. ” His voice sounded muffled and heavy, as if he had gone to bed. His attitude was as different from Gianfrancesco’s as night was from day. 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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