She pulled him down by his lapels and arched her head readily towards his neck. ” His voice assumed an easy detached tone. ‘Who in the name of heaven is this Leonardo? And why did he kiss you?’ ‘He was an Italian soldier, and he wanted to kiss me,’ Melusine said, goaded. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. There she would wander about in the kindly darkness.
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