” She laughed heartily, and became as suddenly grave. " She had brought home a puppy one day. She would never return to her father; that resolution was final. I did what I could to comfort her but she died in terrible pain. Leonardo was to me perhaps like a father, not a lover as you think. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. And now you know. She saw it, and checked without thinking. Heard voices. Paris, always beautiful even in the darkness, glittered away to the horizon.
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