He left the room, presumably to sleep elsewhere, but the only other room with a fire was the servant’s quarters. ‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. . Kneebone's house, the young man hastened to a hotel in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden, where, having procured a horse, he shaped his course towards the west end of the town. Brendon always comes home with me, and tonight both are away.
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