This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. ’ Melusine turned, an irrepressible giggle escaping her lips as she thought of the Mother Abbess in the convent at Blaye. Lucy kicked her side, then her wounded leg, dislodging her. “I am sorry,” she said, “if you find the likeness unsatisfactory. But nobody drinks on my island unless I offer it, which is seldom. In fact, the whole face had undergone a transformation.
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