Her lips were dry and cracked. A delicate flush of colour streamed into her cheeks. Leonardo was to me perhaps like a father, not a lover as you think. He brought another small loaf, and a can with which he replenished the pitcher, recommending Jack to be careful, as he would get nothing further till morning. ‘You see, Melusine, that none of our visitors were as informed as they would wish to be. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. She dreaded leaving him for the night, but separated herself finally.
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