’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. You don’t have to live forever to understand that. Unless they remind him now and then not to. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. ’ Melusine remembered a thin man of sour aspect, living—like her father and his wife Suzanne—off the vicomte’s bounty.
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