‘I suppose he isn’t this Leonardo you spoke of?’ ‘Certainly he is not Leonardo. ’ Gerald tutted. ’ He frowned again. ’ ‘I was called in, ma’am, to catch a French spy—at least, that is what Pottiswick thought. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. She was not allowed to bathe herself: another prisoner, with a privileged manner, washed her.
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