Melusine fetched her stool and plonked it down next to her great-aunt’s chair. . . An admirable alternative presented itself and she sighed, spreading her hands. But she had found it very difficult. You might even tire of me by then, you know. Lucy looked at her with a small measure of pity. She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again. One can't help being jealous, you know, even of an unworthy object. Why, that boy could hide for thirty years—without the girl.
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