‘Laisse-moi,’ she panted, shifting wildly in his hold, so that he had all to do to keep her thus imprisoned. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. Her aunt went out of the room with dignity and a rustle, and up-stairs to the fastness of her own room. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. For the first time in her life she had heard music; the door to enchanted sounds had been flung wide. That was Leonardo’s motto. She backed away from him.
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