Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. There was a maiden aunt who lived in the North who might let her live there for a few weeks until she disappeared. Most of the time, he was hunting and he returned at night. But Jack and his companion were already gone. His demeanour then was sober enough to lend colour to that belief. You'll live to hate chicken; and the man in you will rise up and demand strong drink. ’ There was sense in what she said, Melusine was obliged to concede.
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