He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor. It had rained during the night, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. Sir John felt and looked several years younger. Leonardo was to me nothing at all. Anna was not “Alcide” of the “Ambassador’s,” whose subtly demure smile and piquant glances had called him to her side from the moment of their first meeting. Turning, she heaved at the bottom door and slammed it in his face just as he came leaping forward to grab her.
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