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’ Melusine turned, an irrepressible giggle escaping her lips as she thought of the Mother Abbess in the convent at Blaye. Paul’s, were rich and wonderful with the soft sunshine of London, the softest, the finest grained, the most penetrating and least emphatic sunshine in the world. Then, I thought, she has repented, all will be well. ‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand.
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