‘Pray you, do me this one little service, and do not ask me why. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. How I envied Gianfrancesco on his wedding night, how I writhed in agony just thinking 171 about his intimacies with you! Then you became pregnant, and there he was, posturing and gloating like the rest of the family, my divinations of a boy in your womb pronounced. The way—the way we are led on! We are taught to believe we are free in the world, to think we are queens. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. I rarely set foot in London these days.
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