" "We may believe as much of that as we please, I suppose," observed the carpenter's wife, with a sneer. ” John gave her a tour of the expansive house, which had a pool in the backyard and gorgeous gardens that she could tell that Carol Diedermayer did not have a great deal to do with. 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. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper.
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