‘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. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. . Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination.
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