But Melusine’s own words had thrown an idea into her head. ” 174 < 21 > THANKSGIVING She padded softly up the old stairs, exhausted and elated. But, no. Come into the parlour, Winifred, and dry your eyes directly, or I'll send you to bed. And if you’ve any notion—’ ‘Yes, it is upstairs,’ Melusine agreed, crossing to the library door. She could not say who, not yet. It was Blueskin. My son went down after his death. Fast asleep, he is.
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