No matter how many books one read, each was different, as each human being was different. In fact, it would not surprise me to discover that they were both Leonardo’s. Joan told me it was hung somewhere in the house, only I couldn’t remember where after all this time. In a second the glass lay shattered upon the carpet. Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun. To her horror she realized that she had nearly forgotten how to kiss after a years-long dry spell, and she could detect drool on her own chin and John’s cheek. " "Hum!" exclaimed Jonathan.
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