’ ‘I do not think so,’ Melusine agreed, still puzzled. I still have a cross stitch she made for me of a little fairy sitting on a daffodil. Two or three podgy-looking old men with wives to match, half-a-dozen overdressed girls, and a couple of underdressed American ones, who still wore the clothes in which they had been tramping half over London since breakfast time. He was waiting in the outer hall as she tiptoed in.
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