She dare not risk it. ’ Melusine rose from her chair in sudden irritation. ‘Yes, I know. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year.
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