‘It is that he needed me for his lie, no?’ Melusine said, striving to control the quiver in her voice. ‘Pardon, mademoiselle, but perhaps your father went to England, after all, and —’ ‘My father went to Italy,’ interrupted Melusine, her heart tightening with the familiar sensation of loss. Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom. He needed to laugh, but only she laughed as he chuckled weakly.
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