The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. The library was on the ground floor, Melusine recalled from the previous visit, for she had searched through a desk in a room filled with bookshelves of leatherbound volumes. The street was deserted, no pedestrian school-goers walked immediately in front or behind them. It was her job to keep the house as neat as a pin, up to the high standard that Sheila expected, being a nurse.
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