Behind the Avenue was a little hill, and an iron-fenced path went over the crest of this to a stile under an elm-tree, and forked there, with one branch going back into the Avenue again. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. ‘Who in the name of heaven is this Leonardo? And why did he kiss you?’ ‘He was an Italian soldier, and he wanted to kiss me,’ Melusine said, goaded. Katy oozed money from every pore of her being. I’m not such a bad sort.
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