‘Parbleu, the bullet is still inside you,’ Melusine guessed, remembering how the Mother Abbess had diagnosed Leonardo’s suffering when he had first come to the convent. ‘Do not look at me so,’ he snapped. That blow made me a thief. You would want me to be clean, if you gave me a thought, that is. I tell you—never mind the bill. People running, screaming, hiding.
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