“I don’t know where to go to. And if you’ve any notion—’ ‘Yes, it is upstairs,’ Melusine agreed, crossing to the library door. If my conjectures are right, this boy would stay there indefinitely. The evenings were dulcet and soft. Fritz flailed against his mother wildly, crying generous tears. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front.
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