Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. To his intense satisfaction, Melusine bit her lip on a tremor. Had he found the secret door? Running to the centre, she tried to judge where the knocking came from.
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