” “I think,” Lady Lescelles said, putting down her teacup, “that I must send Nigel to plead his own cause. His French is better than mine, so he knew exactly what he was handling. From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin. Shari entered the room in a damp towel, fresh from the shower. “You doubted me?” She joked. What the devil is her name, now we know she isn’t you?’ ‘Yolande,’ supplied Melusine.
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