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She had come to despise those who were fertile out of pure jealousy, but could not admit it to herself. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. “You have put all your life in my hands,” he declared. The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her. Not up here, I think. “I knew you would begin to see how it all falls into place together. He seemed years younger, and the arrangement of his tie and hair were almost rakish. Gin Lane's the nearest road to the churchyard. A white man takes his life in his hands. That was Leonardo’s motto. ” He fancied that she was yielding, but her eyes fell once more upon that fatal envelope, and her tone when she spoke was colder than ever. “All right so far,” she said to herself.

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