‘Tell me about the convent? Were you happy there? They were kind to you, the nuns?’ ‘Oh, but yes. Melusine’s eyes shifted. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. “I got your note just in time,” he remarked. I owed his father a grudge: that I settled long ago. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled.
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