‘Pardon, mademoiselle, but perhaps your father went to England, after all, and —’ ‘My father went to Italy,’ interrupted Melusine, her heart tightening with the familiar sensation of loss. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. Give me your name, girl!’ ‘Again?’ Mademoiselle rolled her eyes. “I went to Anna’s rooms because I felt that I must see her. ‘You are the one that I have met in London. You would steal from me then the only man I ever cared a snap of the fingers about. “What can one say?” she exclaimed.
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