‘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. “It’s the spring,” he said. “You need have no further trouble. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. The settlement was on the middle west coast. Grandmothers and grandfathers and uncles and aunts … to love and to coddle lonely little girls.
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