Her stifled misery had betrayed her. “So how about this Friday?” He asked. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. “I can say no more. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. But her words were not addressed to Melusine. The signs of tears had all gone, but some subtle change seemed to have stolen into her face.
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