But there is need for the proof that I am me, and that is what I look for. Poor soul! she nearly died when she heard he had robbed his master; and it might have been well if she had done so, for she never afterwards recovered her reason. She hastened past. That was Leonardo’s motto. He flung open the door and cast a quick glance round. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. Her face expressed nothing. It was at his side below the breast, hidden by the dark colour of his close-fitting jacket.
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