She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. You’ll end there one day, mark my words. The day was so darkly overcast that she had to turn on the small white porcelain lamp that sat upon the makeup crowded vanity. Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist. “I love you, you know. She went on from street to street, and all the glory of London had departed. It was not only Leonardo who had instilled in her this distrust of men.
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