‘Who, the émigrés?’ ‘Do I speak of the English, imbecile? Certainly the émigrés. “You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when there was nothing—no love?” “How did I know there wasn’t love?” That silenced her for a moment. "These writer chaps are queer birds. ’ ‘Of Leonardo? Yes, I will tell you. She would flee to the wild fastnesses, the places where there were no overarching systems of any use, where she could blend with the unstable populace and kill in relative peace.
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