Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. Melusine, used to the stark surroundings of the convent at Blaye, had no complaint to make. After an hour of waiting, she slammed her bedroom door and he returned to his basement.
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