The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. ‘And just who is Leonardo?’ ‘How in God’s name should I know?’ demanded Roding irascibly. One must be on guard. ‘Have no fear,’ he uttered soothingly, reaching out to pat her free hand. 1 through 1.
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