Death belongs to God, young man. ‘Parbleu, the bullet is still inside you,’ Melusine guessed, remembering how the Mother Abbess had diagnosed Leonardo’s suffering when he had first come to the convent. Wait, though. My opportunities have been immense, and my failure utter. A Hand that strove to reach his shoulder, relentless, soulless but lawful. She was surprised to find how stored her mind was with impressions and memories of him, how vividly she remembered his gestures and little things that he had said.
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