“Go on,” he said. He spent the evening telling her stories of Greece as she sat in front of a roaring fire. Following him, and acting out of instinct rather than intent, Melusine took a firm grasp of the gilt frame with both hands, lifted it high in the air and, with a shrieking curse, brought it down hard. “Why don’t you wear your white blouse more often? It is the prettiest shirt you own. ‘Yes, dear Nan, a flirtation. ” She stirred gently in her chair.
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