Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. She reminded him sometimes of the one holy and ineffable Madonna, at others of Berode, the great courtezan of her day, who had sent kings away from her doors, and had just announced her intention of ending her life in a convent. But he may remain with you if he pleases: I sha'n't hinder him. Even the love of a mother does not sway him. There must be ways of getting rid of him. For a big-bellied glass is the palette I use, And the choicest of wine is my colour; And I find that my nose takes the mellowest hues The fuller I fill it—the fuller! IV. Their houses became a refuge of ill repute, the source of rumor and intrigue in the highest echelons of society. But one was clearly the goddess among them, her face hidden, her body seeming to call out to me to possess it at once.
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