She bolted awake in the large bed which was awash in a sea of silks, furs, and red curtains. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. Gianfrancesco became agitated. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland. I knew it. Wood, with a message for Lady Trafford.
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