His feet would have the firm texture of his hands. ” “I had to,” she repeated. He must know she’ll be at a convent. ’ Melusine’s instant annoyance must have shown in her face. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. She had trembled on the verge of such a resolution before, but this time quite definitely she made it. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea.
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