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‘Do not look at me so,’ he snapped. The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. “Every one raves about her,” Lady Angela continued. At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. ‘Don’t let us quarrel over your Leonardo,’ he said, summoning a faint smile.
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