A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. ‘Bête!’ Gerald caught her hand as she pulled it back to deliver another blow. Like a river swollen by many currents, it gathered force from the various avenues that poured their streams into it. You won’t settle and I’m going mad. ’ ‘We are not all of us so empty-headed, Melusine,’ pleaded Miss Froxfield.
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