‘She’s gone. Kneebone he's not here. Only in her eyes there seemed to be some apprehension of the fact that the young man’s clothes and manners were alike undesirable things. She had made a bed for herself out of wood and furs. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. She had not nursed Leonardo for weeks for nothing. What was the fellow about? Was he being imposed upon? He watched as the man Valade turned back, spreading his hands in the French way. Then suddenly, in front of all those windows, he folded her in his arms and pressed her to him, and kissed her unresisting face.
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