Mike was drinking a cup of black coffee. You were with your mother, the two of you huddled like thieves, laughing at the silly women who tried to shield themselves from rain by cowering under empty baskets and shawls. There was nothing on her face to hint of the misery that brimmed her heart this morning. They had heard nothing, seen nothing. Melusine stepped back a pace, her gaze fixed on the vision before her. “Not much,” he answered, “and yet about all there is to be known, I fancy. I did all for the best, I'm sure.
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