Katy’s face was vapid and undistinguishable from a crowd, but pretty in an abstract sense, like the face of a baby doll. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. Wood could not avoid making a slight shuffling sound. But she did not know what he knew, that it would always be rolling up, enlivened by suggestion, no matter how trifling. Leonardo had told her it would happen, and warned her to make use of it.
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