Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. “Ann Veronica,” he said. ” She pointed to the envelope still resting upon the mantelpiece. “If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand. But her tears had been for Leonardo’s expulsion, and the loss of his companionship. ” For a fraction of a second the two young men hesitated.
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