’ ‘Compel me? You do not know me, monsieur. ‘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. Here was a little corner of the past—a tragic corner. “Here we are, living in the same suburb,” he began. She grew perhaps a shade paler, and she glanced out into the street, where her four-wheeler cab, laden with luggage, was still waiting.
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