She cursed herself for a fool. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. ‘Well, we’ll just go on up and have a look at this here passage, missie, shall we?’ ‘Have I not been saying so?’ snapped Melusine, exasperated. She gloried in it: he needed her. Fortescue in the drawing-room, and actually shake hands with him in an entirely hopeless manner and hope everything would turn out for the best.
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