‘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. She ran down alleyways and between buildings, faster than an Olympian, until she could hear his voice no more. For nothing will ever convince me that it is not the man’s share in life to shield, to protect, to lead and toil and watch and battle with the world at large. “I wonder if there is!” said Capes, and paused, and then bent down over the boy who wore his hair like Russell. “That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park.
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