He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. His face was much handsomer than Gianfrancesco’s, his lips thinner, his brow much more noble and wise. “That’s the point. She let them fall and sped to the companion, where she stood for a moment, the moonlight giving her a celestial touch. ‘You cannot read my mind at all, monsieur.
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