‘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. There are times when you make me feel a little thing at your feet—a young, silly, protected thing. Sheppard had been interred. You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. The police are concerned in it in either event.
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