’ Melusine remembered a thin man of sour aspect, living—like her father and his wife Suzanne—off the vicomte’s bounty. “Concern me!” she repeated fiercely. “Michelle said that your mom was a suspect because she ran away, visited some boyfriend of hers and then ran off into the night. The echo of those kindly words seemed still to ring in her ears. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure.
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