The evenings were dulcet and soft. In fact, it would not surprise me to discover that they were both Leonardo’s. There was a wild light in her eye, and her straight hair was out demonstrating and suffragetting upon some independent notions of its own. When Jack entered the cell, she was talking to herself in the muttering unconnected way peculiar to her distracted condition; but, after her eye had rested on him some time, the fixed expression of her features relaxed, and a smile crossed them.
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