. ’ ‘You mean monsieur le baron, the General Charvill, my grandfather?’ Melusine laid aside on the table the letter she had been studying and turned so that the frame of her nun’s wimple no longer obscured her view. Lucy looked down, noticing that Michelle had left her shoes in the entryway. Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint.
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