’ ‘Ah. " "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. ‘Well, that depends. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. ” “But Italy—” “Italy’s for a good girl,” he said, and laid his hand for a moment on her shoulder. ’ ‘It is money you mean, no?’ Melusine asked with scorn. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume.
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