Melusine, used to the stark surroundings of the convent at Blaye, had no complaint to make. But after the first shock came a warm glow of relief. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. Cars rushed by on the street, swerving into the middle of the two lane road to avoid the knee-deep puddles forming around sewer grates. She used to play violin, you know.
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