’ Melusine turned, an irrepressible giggle escaping her lips as she thought of the Mother Abbess in the convent at Blaye. “I know,” she said quietly, “that Paris, where she has been so much admired, is not a good place for her. You know the sort of thing. She said that? To be closer to you?” “I think she is plotting something, though I cannot guess what. It is not the woman who speaks there. ” “I suppose we are,” said Vee, rearranging the flowers in her hand.
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