It's a long time since we met, eight years and more. I’ve seen him, and he doesn’t a bit understand. Then a servant girl brought in a telegram. ‘Merci, Joan,’ cried Melusine, moving to her and seizing her hand which she clasped between both her own for a moment, as she turned to the others. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting.
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