She had not felt comfortable in his presence from the first, and with Leonardo’s precepts in mind, was loath to trust him. Something with iron resolve the father had kept hidden all these years in the lonely citadel of his heart. And the grotesquest fact was that she did not so much loathe, as experience with a quite critical condemnation this strange sensation of being kissed. "Aren't you afraid?" "Of what?"—serenely. Her formerly brown hair was dyed a white shade of blonde.
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