’ Melusine could not suppress a smile. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he had greeted her, entering the little private parlour where, Martha being at prayer in their room, she sat alone, reading over and over the letter Mother Abbess had given her and revolving plans in her head. The threadbare remainders of the dinner discussion hovered over the topics of obsessive fans of the science fiction and horror genres. She was going to him soon and certainly, going to his strong, embracing arms. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips.
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