“Wow, congratulations, Martin. ‘It’s a pretty name. Something with iron resolve the father had kept hidden all these years in the lonely citadel of his heart. Jackson, I could almost fancy we had met before. ‘You!’ ‘Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,’ he continued in his own tongue. And Leonardo told me never to trust any man. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis.
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