‘Yes, dear Nan, a flirtation. Why open my mouth if there might not be a need for it when all’s said?’ Melusine acknowledged the logic of this. Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. ‘From the convent, where else?’ ‘It does not strike me that you can possibly have been in a convent.
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