That last year in Paris, when Annabel and she had lived in different worlds, had often been a nightmare to her. As soon as they had got out, the vehicle was drawn up at the back of a tree near the cage. The troops had kept a large space clear around the gallows. That was Leonardo’s motto. She passed down the stairs and into the street. She was fiercely and bitterly jealous. “Agreed,” he said with queer exaltation, and his grip tightened on her hand. The lad had just barely jangled it, when hurrying footsteps could be heard inside. “You no longer belong to Gianfrancesco. John, I shall eat that whole tin of sardines.
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