There was no rush. ‘You don’t know him. There was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. Hidden menace; a prescience of something dreadful about to happen. ‘—without telling her why,’ he finished, ignoring the interjection. A neighbor stopped by as the day wore on, causing her to duck and cower as he rang the doorbell over and over.
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