The doorbell tinkled and Michelle grabbed her purse and rushed down the creaky wooden stairs. Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. To-morrow he might be sorry; but to-day, this hour! She rose, not quickly, but with a dignity which only accentuated her beauty. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation. For a time I didn't know we'd ever find you. You were with your mother, the two of you huddled like thieves, laughing at the silly women who tried to shield themselves from rain by cowering under empty baskets and shawls. She responded as he slipped his hands under her sweater. She bound a scarf tightly round the place where the blood seemed to be coming from.
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