Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. She exhaled, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders and arms. Imbecile. She was definitely following him. ‘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. Good-bye, for the pressent—ha! ha!" And, laughing loudly at his own facetiousness, he quitted the Lodge.
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