“The rarefied air? I thought you had a better head. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. ” Lucy considered the irony that Michelle had spent seventeen years waiting to escape the suburban existence she had always longed to live. ‘Jacques!’ Melusine dropped to her haunches beside his inert form, feeling for the wound. Her bonnet dropped off and was trampled into the gutter.
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