‘Do please continue,’ Gerald begged, deceptively docile. Melusine, starved of colour for years, revelled in it. She withdrew her head with a little moan, and resumed her flight. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. This—all this swamps them. “Have you any money?” “Lots,” Anna answered laconically. I was resolved to see you.
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