Leo knew what it was like to finally stop checking impulses, to finally acknowledge that there was someone inside who had impulses. He had let the contours of his world be shaped entirely by his work, and Camilla had perhaps done something similar—but instead of work, she served some other god. Her husband? Propriety? He didn’t know, and it probably didn’t matter. What mattered was that something had happened to make Camilla cast off the things she had once thought paramount.
