The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. ‘Now you see why it is I no longer require the proof of which I have spoken. ‘No one is here, Melusine, except you and I. \" Lucy fought to resist the compulsion to 45 fold her arms over her chest. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone.
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