” “Of course you don’t,” said Miss Miniver, gesticulating triumphantly with her thin hand and thinner wrist, and patting Ann Veronica’s knee. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. " Her utterance was here choked by sobs. Five minutes ago, his butler had entered the green saloon, an austere apartment, with dark forest-green wallpaper flocked with a swirling design, and heavy mahogany furniture. ‘She would say, espéce de diable, this Melusine. There was a photo of her that looked exactly like you.
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