’ There was satisfaction in Melusine’s voice. Not so Gosse. ‘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. And son of a pig,’ she grunted, baring her teeth. Tears sprang to her eyes. I thought one had only to take it by the throat. Her features are the same, yet the change has written its mark into her face.
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