“I had those beautiful roses from you on my first night, and a tiny little note but no address. Melusine cast one swift glance at it, and her eyes, flashing magnificently, came back to his face. “You look more like your old self when you smile,” he remarked. “I had a visit from Sir John in my rooms,” she said. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. Then she slowly straightened, releasing him.
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