She listened, her suspicions confirmed. The lace was family lace, easily recognizable. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. ‘She would say, espéce de diable, this Melusine. I am not prying for my own amusement. Maggot.
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