“I have always,” she admitted calmly, “taken a certain amount of interest in Annabel’s future. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. —Though if my name should become as famous as theirs, it wouldn't much matter. Because Leonardo, he made me see that I can be someone. Their soft, voluptuous bodies wove among each other to the faint notes of a lyre. To even presume a lustful thought about her was to ask for one’s own death.
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