His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. She felt pride sashay into her thoughts. Ann Veronica found herself walking back down the Avenue that had just been the scene of her first proposal beside her aunt, and speculating for the first time in her life about that lady’s mental attitudes. She observed a man walking on the opposite side of the way and looking toward her. ‘Leonardo again,’ he growled. But it is not your name.
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