’ ‘What young lady?’ demanded a voice from the back of the hall. “What’s wrong?” He asked as she shifted awkwardly. Melusine gritted her teeth. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. His anger gave way to grim humour and he thrust towards them, leaning heavily on his cane.
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