I have never seen a lagoon. Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor. Leonardo had told her it would happen, and warned her to make use of it. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. "If that sickly brat lives to be a man," continued Jonathan, rising, "I'll hang him upon the same tree as his father.
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