Oh God! pardon me. That was Leonardo’s motto. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. Why? Because Howard Spurlock the author dared not risk the liberty of Howard Spurlock the malefactor; because there were still some dregs in this cup of irony. With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible.
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