It was as if she had come upon the beautiful marble façade of a fairy palace, was invited to enter, and behind the door—nothing. She had not felt comfortable in his presence from the first, and with Leonardo’s precepts in mind, was loath to trust him. He looked no longer at his wife. She regarded him coldly, as though wondering whether he had anything further to say. Anna said nothing. He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy. I did not know that you had even 244 started writing a symphony.
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