The iron slipped from his face, leaving it blank with astonishment. ‘Pardon, mademoiselle, but perhaps your father went to England, after all, and —’ ‘My father went to Italy,’ interrupted Melusine, her heart tightening with the familiar sensation of loss. I don’t mind it. ‘Is it soft, the way you seize me from behind? Parbleu, my heart it is flown from my chest! Boom, boom, it goes, even now. . ’ Melusine hit lightly at his chest. Surely he was imagining this picture.
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