Leonard's blood had run cold in a second. The man with the fewest scruples and shame felt like crying. The connection he had felt with her was not physical, something in his gut drove him to be around her and he confused it with s****l appetite. Wanting to die did not even come close to what he felt at that moment.
Everything made sense now. That time he had told Marcus that Deanna sang as if she were an old soul; she was like his mother. His cold and contemptuous mother also sang when his father met her, later forcing her to abandon her profession and turning her into a bitter woman.
Deanna inherited her grandmother's talent. But the hair and eyes were Philippa's. He had had that feeling of having seen her somewhere else. If he had bothered to ask the professor who facilitated her
