’ ‘Certainly he is not a friend,’ Melusine agreed, ‘but he has gone, after all. ‘Is there a resemblance?’ ‘This is Mary Remenham?’ ‘That is my late niece, yes. ” He sidled toward her, but she recoiled from him, leaving him in possession of the hearth-rug. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. “I brought a man with me who is posted outside,” he remarked.
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