Did he intend to kill her now, this instant? Or had she a moment or two to try to save herself? Recalling Leonardo’s dictum, she did not struggle, for that would only tighten the trap about her, and perhaps even spring it. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms. ‘Gérard will think that I have gone back to London. Years ago, when you were a girl and in the bloom of your beauty, I loved you. " "But that's the point—I don't know.
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