’ Shock ripped through Charvill’s chest. ‘I trust you are cursing Valade, and not Melusine. She slipped on white thin-soled tennis shoes with no socks, her ankles exposed as Shari had once suggested they be worn. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. “You will go and see her,” he begged.
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