The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. ’ ‘Oh, peste,’ exclaimed Melusine crossly. ‘Left to yourself, my girl, you may not have any affairs. If he had got off, they might have hanged me, and welcome. I could not become an Oracle. Kind of knows it, too. It had been part of her wedding trousseau, a gift from her family to his. He fell back upon the pillows with a little moan, clutching the slim white fingers fiercely. She had adored the stupid thing, and kept it in her pocket for about ten years. That might happen on her birthday—in August.
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