He drew a little breath of relief. The wretch you confide in has sworn to hang you. Leaning upon a gate he looked down into the valley. ‘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. His voice had broken. I will have nothing to do with you. I suppose because it IS the chief thing in life.
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