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. The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. "I've got something to say to you," continued the speaker, rather less harshly; "something to your advantage; so come out o' your hiding-place, and let's have some supper, for I'm infernally hungry. It was dry, as if she had powdered it. Upon what this instinct was based she could not say; she was conscious only of its insistence. ‘You are jealous!’ ‘Yes,’ he agreed simply.
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