Her new husband had paid for a cadre of escorts back to Mantua. Wood scarcely knew where he was. Sorrow lay in the back of his mind as he withdrew, but he put it aside. He opened it—just off-hand, and then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon flying and splashing on to the tablecloth. Leonardo was to me perhaps like a father, not a lover as you think. .
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