Harita, bir ejderhanın tapınak gibi görünen bir mağarayı işaret ediyordu. “I am not sure,” Anna answered. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. "We're forgetting," he said. She read the policeman’s rueful glance when she caught his refection in his rearview mirror. Because Leonardo, he made me see that I can be someone. It is not a dissipated face. He took some Oreos from the bottomless supply that stocked the cookie jar. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said.
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