I will take her back. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. I had no idea even that she was a friend of yours. She mewed weakly, “Sebastian? What have you done? Where is Gianfrancesco? Did you kill him?” He crossed his arms. She was ashamed of herself for the simple gladness she felt wash over her as the infant’s screams ended. Something seemed awry. Feels as if I’ve been dashing back and forth about the whole country, if you want to know.
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