She glared at him with satisfaction. She had not felt comfortable in his presence from the first, and with Leonardo’s precepts in mind, was loath to trust him. She had already killed more than she wanted to count, yet she had counted them still. Most of the tables were for those who smoked only and drank wine, but there were a few spread with tablecloths and laid for dinner. They struck her as cold and indifferent. ” She disengaged herself from him and went out of the room with a grave, preoccupied expression. Her father held some printed document in his hand, and appeared not to observe her entry. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. I'd have got something nice.
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