“A bad thing for me when that legacy came. ‘You wish to tell me something? Parbleu, I have nearly forgot once more. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice. ’ Melusine could not regard this view with anything but scepticism.
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