” She went as far as her door, then turned to the window. Never mind. Gianfrancesco was not ugly, in fact, perhaps he was rather handsome after all. She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. That ring manifestly occupied her thoughts a great deal. The sky periodically pummeled her with hail pellets as she would pass through the deserted intersections. The concourse extended along Giltspur Street as far as Smithfield. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her.
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