After all, life had still its pulsations. Melusine turned to look at the walls, and saw, immediately opposite, set between two candelabra above a marquetry side table, a gilded mirror. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. That last year in Paris, when Annabel and she had lived in different worlds, had often been a nightmare to her. ‘And I trust you will pardon my inadequacies. Once she reached the bamboo curtain, clutched at it and tore it down as his arms went around her waist.
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