Her straight strawberry blonde hair was exactly Cathy’s. “Please play something for us,” Carol asked, her eyes aglow. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. He'll settle it bravely. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. “Any choice as to which of the Halls? You can pick and choose, you know. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory. From all angles he was at a disadvantage—in weight, skill, endurance. Then fury claimed her and she could no longer pretend. Perhaps he had lost his loved ones and was wandering over the world seeking forgetfulness.
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