Leonardo was to me perhaps like a father, not a lover as you think. “Annabel,” she said brusquely. . Already she had sent him twenty pounds, and never written to explain to him why it was she had not sent it back sharply directly he returned it. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven.
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