His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. One Friday afternoon, in this pleasant month, it chanced that Mr. ‘Pardon, mademoiselle, but perhaps your father went to England, after all, and —’ ‘My father went to Italy,’ interrupted Melusine, her heart tightening with the familiar sensation of loss. “I must read him when I come out.
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