“Queer letters he writes,” she said. He slid out of her. “Exactly. Leonardo had taught her pretty well everything she could have need to know, when they had talked long at his bedside. He was asleep when Jonathan entered, and growled at being disturbed. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. . Gianfrancesco ran from the room, tearing at his hair.
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