Women never throw themselves into each other's arms; they calculate the distance and the damage perfectly. Jonathan laughed scornfully. She disengaged her hands and stood up. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. ‘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. "I hope you don't imagine anything has gone wrong, Sir.
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