. ’ Melusine remembered a thin man of sour aspect, living—like her father and his wife Suzanne—off the vicomte’s bounty. ‘Why do you think I want a man ready to run to me with every move she makes?’ countered Gerald. It would be downright cruel to disillusion her. I know in Paris you pinched and scraped that your sister might have the dresses and entertainments she desired. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself.
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