’ Melusine glared. She was perhaps as near tears as ever before in her life. He was not quite sure whether, after all, he had been wise. The prostitute’s attack was predictable, typical. "Mercy on us! Well, I thought their manners quite out o' the common. She found it rather funny that he always wore the shirt fastidiously tucked in and never wore the ensemble without a stiff brown leather belt. ’ Chapter Nine As she devoured the simple meal of bread and cheese, and several slices of cold roast beef, the whole washed down with a poor sort of coffee, Melusine listened with avid interest to the details of her mother’s life as revealed by the exclamatory conversation of Joan Ibstock. How would it serve Nicholas to keep the truth from his daughter? A tiny thread of disquiet troubled him. But his words were borne away by the driving wind.
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