’ She allowed herself to be pulled to the centre of the room, but uttered in a low tone, full of suppressed anxiety, ‘How can he know? How can he know?’ ‘You mean how can he know that this is your house?’ Melusine looked up at him, distress in her eyes. “Heavens!” she exclaimed. Burn your palette and your easel. She could not feel her own body. Thames Street was wholly impassable.
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