They were alike in one phase—loveless and lonely. ’ Melusine could not suppress a smile. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. She stepped into his arms. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. He recognized the handwriting, and turned a shade paler.
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