“I cut off his right hand pinky with his own rusty bolt cutter. These things were common knowledge among the bon ton, who were generously welcoming these unfortunate escapees. She slipped it calmly into her pocket. Leonardo was to me nothing at all. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. ‘If you mean this capitaine, he is on the contrary altogether the least delightful person I have met. He left the room, presumably to sleep elsewhere, but the only other room with a fire was the servant’s quarters. He would have to sit down here in Canton and wait, perhaps for weeks. ‘Cover her, men.
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