She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. It was not only Leonardo who had instilled in her this distrust of men. He too, when she had disappeared, called a carriage. As much as it killed her, she kept her mouth shut. “Gods,” she said, at last, “I’ve done it this time!” “Well!” She took up the neat morocco purse, opened it, and examined the contents. . My feelings overpower me. A male voice, vibrant with terror, yelled out hoarsely.
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