’ ‘You mean monsieur le baron, the General Charvill, my grandfather?’ Melusine laid aside on the table the letter she had been studying and turned so that the frame of her nun’s wimple no longer obscured her view. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. Your reputation for hospitality would remain under a cloud though, for tea was distinctly mentioned. The opiate has done its duty. “It’s just that he doesn’t seem like your type.
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