She had lost her sense of direction, and was among unfamiliar streets. She took his hand in hers. You may go back, Marthe. ’ ‘Yes, indeed,’ agreed Lucilla enthusiastically. Michelle tossed her hair like a young colt flicking its tail. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. She drew it out with shaking fingers.
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