There was absolute quiet. She ran away after she had divined that Gianfrancesco had remarried. ‘Gérard—’ ‘What now?’ he asked, rife with suspicion. ‘I know her, ma’am, but I know next to nothing of her story. At the Palazzo she had been confined to her own sunny windowed quarters most of the time, but she had the entire run of the inside of the manor. Homosexuals weren’t looked too kindly upon in their exclusive suburban neighborhood, not even dashing handsome ones. Then she went back and mixed up the sheets in a search for particular passages. She passed him silently as she dropped Michelle’s dried corpse into the open clay pit awkwardly, like a discarded doll.
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