’ They passed through a little antechamber, and Melusine sighed with relief as she entered the library next door. ’ Melusine could not regard this view with anything but scepticism. Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners. Ice had begun to form in the shallows. ‘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. To—to find myself.
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