The work of plunder over, that of destruction commenced. She sensed his acute frustration as he unzipped her raincoat while trying to kiss her. Her favor was sought beyond all women’s favors. ‘Who in the name of heaven is this Leonardo? And why did he kiss you?’ ‘He was an Italian soldier, and he wanted to kiss me,’ Melusine said, goaded. One of the shutters was a trifle damaged, letting in added light. She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night. This last operation was so fatiguing, that for a short time he was obliged to pause to recover the use of his fingers. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being. I’ll take over here. “Then I will do what I can,” Anna promised.
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