She had not felt comfortable in his presence from the first, and with Leonardo’s precepts in mind, was loath to trust him. Wood turned to look at him. The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master. If nothing else had clinched that, the purse had. She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress.
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