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. “Absolutely platonically,” she said. And this utter stranger … loved him! He had no reason to doubt McClintock's statement; the Scot had solved the riddle why Ruth Enschede had married Howard Spurlock. The morning of Monday the 16th of November 1724 at length dawned. I didn’t dream, not even in my wildest dreaming, that—you might have any need of me. So get up, and let's be off. Only Gwen left a letter on the pincushion. There was a man, a boy, and a woman.
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