Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. “It was the night you left Paris. The man himself was not a pleasant object. The both of them puttering about the tidy two-story house, Lucy would serve them both steaming cups of tea in the front parlor. ’ ‘The horse?’ echoed Melusine. She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap.
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