’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. ’ ‘Oh, peste,’ exclaimed Melusine crossly. Doesn’t matter a bit to me. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct. He had informed her that to leave him would be a choice to live a life of meager subsistence. His salvation—if there was to be any—lay in her ignorance of life. “You be off, missie,” said the fatherly policeman.
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