He spoke English with astonishing facility and with a purity which often embarrassed his tourists. Half French. Melusine’s heart jumped and she felt heat rising into her cheeks. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. Then, as she was in the act of turning reluctantly away, she noticed a thin crack between the door and the frame. ‘Maman?’ ‘How touching,’ said a sarcastic voice behind her in French. Your life is like a funeral March.
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