‘But only think, Hilary,’ Lucy protested, evidently too involved in her theory to waste time in scolding. Drowning, her brain dizzy, Melusine clung to the source of the flooding warmth, her hands, no longer forcibly held, moving without will about the firm back. “You are late,” she murmured. Set on unravelling her secrets, Gerald pursues every possible clue—much to the indignation of Mademoiselle.
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