He said nothing, even though it was not raining. "That is easily explained. . 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. It was obviously pitched well, hitting her head at a good thirtyfive miles per hour. “I mean to go to that dance!” she blubbered. To recreate the era, I deliberately tried to avoid creating a thinly disguised bodice ripper where an “empowered” woman mouthed off to prospective suitors in jerkins and tights, in other words, a typical romance novel. They traveled to distant places, had an apartment in Constantinople and a villa in Paris. ‘Idiot.
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