“Well,” she said, “good-night, father. Which is C?” Ann Veronica, with a curious sinking of the heart, regarded the black cavities of the vans. “And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly. So often as she had herself manipulated a dagger, she could not mistake the shape that pressured across her chest, or the sharp point that dug below her bosom. I will do all this not because I love you, but—because you are Anna’s sister. Go and prepare for our departure. That was Leonardo’s motto.
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