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She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. ‘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. How can I tell you all I feel? I love you beyond measure. I don’t think I shall ever care for this bonnet again. ‘Is he meeting you here then, my dear?’ ‘He had better,’ said Lucilla.
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