She tried to warm it between hers, covering it up between her palms as much as she could; but she herself was not warm either, for she had been in her cell, where there was no sun in the morning, and the air was chilly and damp, because it had rained in all night.
Giovanni spoke again before she could find words.
'My life is in your hands, with my hand, Angela,' he said.

'Do what you will with it.' He felt that she shook from head to foot, like a young tree that is rudely struck.

He went on, as if he had prepared his words, though he had not even thought of them.
'With your love and your companionship, I shall not miss a limb, I shall not regret my profession, I shall be perfectly happy.

Alone, I will not be forced artificially to live out my life a wretched cripple.' It was brutal, and perhaps he knew it; but he was desperate and fate had given him a weapon to move any woman.

In plain truth, it was as cruel as if he had put a pistol to his head and threatened to pull the trigger if she would not marry him.