One of the shutters was a trifle damaged, letting in added light. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. "I have never been out of this horrible dungeon since we last met," he said; "though how long ago that is, I scarcely know. “I’m still inside you. Some one was standing beside him. ’ Mrs Sindlesham shook with laughter. Apparently I’m not to exist yet. you did what you had to do. 23 She had always considered herself a simple wool maker’s daughter, but she began to realize that by marrying Gianfrancesco she had unwittingly gained entrance to a separate world. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady.
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