She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. ‘I suppose he isn’t this Leonardo you spoke of?’ ‘Certainly he is not Leonardo. Annabel, I cannot believe it. Can’t ask the gent to go abroad and condone a bigamy. The hand that had been clenched lay open, relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose.
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