"I'm afraid we'll have to dig into his trunk," he said. Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. In the distance a bell clanged, and chattering broke out in the doorway as several nuns came crowding in. Sudden indignation boiled up in him. ‘Eh bien, you are not like Leonardo. Not then.
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