” Anna laid down her serviette. It was the end, she told herself, fiercely. But she certainly remembered that when she was a little girl he sometimes wore tennis flannels, and also rode a bicycle very dexterously in through the gates to the front door. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. ‘French? But what else?’ ‘I do not like Frenchmen,’ Melusine snapped. It’s odd how little I know of him, and of how he feels and what he feels.
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