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She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness. A bowl of roses, just brought by Ann Veronica, adorned the communal dressing-table, and Ann Veronica was particularly trim in preparation for a call she was to make with her aunt later in the afternoon. She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred. ‘Who in the name of heaven is this Leonardo? And why did he kiss you?’ ‘He was an Italian soldier, and he wanted to kiss me,’ Melusine said, goaded. Shari was snoring soundly. In the general survey of the prison, taken in the preceding chapter, but little was said of the Lodge.
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