He seemed wholly insensible to the rain, though it presently descended in torrents, and continued his search as ardently as before. Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked. “Good,” he said, as he watched the colour come back to her cheeks. Ruth shivered; she was cold. ‘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. It is what I have done. I want him as my friend.
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