Melusine ripped at the buttons of the garment, dragging it open and away, and gasped at the massive red stain on his shirt. gutenberg. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. ‘Who the devil is Leonardo?’ demanded Roding impatiently, asking the question that had leapt into the major’s mind.
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