” He moved himself from the recliner to the couch and patted a cushion. “No. Deep verandas ran around the bungalows, with bamboo drops which were always down in the daytime, fending off the treacherous sunshine. You are my prisoner, murderer. ‘Who in the name of heaven is this Leonardo? And why did he kiss you?’ ‘He was an Italian soldier, and he wanted to kiss me,’ Melusine said, goaded.
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