“What do you think of that farce?” he exclaimed bitterly. . ’ ‘But why, Marthe,’ asked Melusine, as she walked into the house. “She cannot be aware,” he continued, “that she is making herself conspicuous. Lord, I am sixty. ’ He heard Roding snort, and suppressed a grin as he bowed, taking the trouble to salute Madame’s hand and cast her a provocative look as he did so. The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees.
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