His voice propelled her to cry even harder, so hard that she began to laugh behind her tears. She wanted to turn him. ‘And just who is Leonardo?’ ‘How in God’s name should I know?’ demanded Roding irascibly. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. She drew in a deep breath of the sweet mountain air. Clotilde pried Fritz from Lucy’s left leg where he was clinging.
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