She had, poor inexperienced fool, given herself away. She and I were very close. “Cheveney wouldn’t have anything to say about it, as it happens,” he remarked, a little grimly. And so —’ ‘And so she was able to become my—’ Melusine did not say it, for wet-nurse no longer seemed appropriate. Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. There is no further hope.
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