” She smiled, sure of herself beyond any pretending, into his troubled eyes. "Never heard of a sing-song girl; never heard of a geisha! Flower of the Lotus: the sing-song girl called her that. “Thanks, so do you. She was poor. And so —’ ‘And so she was able to become my—’ Melusine did not say it, for wet-nurse no longer seemed appropriate. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. On a high chair behind a raised counter the stipendiary’s substitute regarded her malevolently over his glasses.
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