‘Well said, my dear. ’ Chapter Six Creeping along the dark narrow passage, with lantern held well ahead to keep her step steady on the uneven stones—and to warn her of the advent of rats— Melusine kept her long petticoats fastidiously clear of the dirt with an efficient hand, a habit she had learned in the convent. My dear—I can call you that here, anyhow—I know that. And I'll answer for it, she'll never say a syllable to annoy you again. Nor is Theresa, or even Thérèse.
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