He drew her closer. “Ruin me? For what? Posterity? How could you ruin me, Lucy? What on earth are you talking about?” He got up and began to pace the room. Before the first month was gone, McClintock admitted that the boy was a find. She reached for the door handle. “And let us have a talk about this—some other time. ” “I suppose people would say that it is a matter of temperament,” she continued. Melusine sighed with relief at being alone at last and free to resume her search among the portraits.
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