He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. “In Paris our lives were far apart, and we had seldom the same friends. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. This door, which was open, Jonathan locked and took out the key.
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