What do you think, Annabel?” “I don’t think they would,” she admitted. Leonardo was to me perhaps like a father, not a lover as you think. You never can go back. He had now reached what was called the Lower Leads,—a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high. A cool gray light illuminated small portions of the stone floor. But her great-aunt was nodding, as if this was what she had expected. The dress came to her only too manifestly unwashed from its former wearer; even the under-linen they gave her seemed unclean. Oh, it was very bad. It was a great weight from her shoulders to confide in another human being, and she suspected he did truly believe her.
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