I never even burrowed down into the trunk. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. You know, Melusine. There was a strip of old rose brocade in the making that set an ache in the girl's heart for the want of it. ” “Thank you. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come.
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