“I do not know. ” Cathy hugged her. John Sheppard. 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. “You love some one else?” he repeated. The ambitions of his life, and they were many, seemed to lie far away, broken up dreams in some outside world where the way was rough and the sky always grey. I will do all this not because I love you, but—because you are Anna’s sister. "I find I was in error.
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