He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. “Don’t they look like a pair of young lovers sleeping off a tryst?” He observed. ‘Who the devil is Leonardo?’ demanded Roding impatiently, asking the question that had leapt into the major’s mind. Her thin fingers were armed with nails as long as the talons of a bird. Her voice shook, her eyes were very soft and melting. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded.
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