’ ‘You mean monsieur le baron, the General Charvill, my grandfather?’ Melusine laid aside on the table the letter she had been studying and turned so that the frame of her nun’s wimple no longer obscured her view. ” Lucy looked at the small shelf which was jammed with thick paperbacks by every major horror novelist of the twentieth century. She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired. ” “Hampstead didn’t suit Lady Ferringhall,” Ennison remarked.
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