There, after protestations of friendliness and helpfulness that were almost ardent, he mounted a little clumsily and rode off at an amiable pace, looking his best, making a leg with his riding gaiters, smiling and saluting, while Ann Veronica turned northward and so came to Micklechesil. He noted that she was fully dressed, that her hair was carefully done, that there was a knotted ribbon around her throat. Through a blur of tears Ruth followed the rocking light until it vanished. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. ‘I suppose he isn’t this Leonardo you spoke of?’ ‘Certainly he is not Leonardo.
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