Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. ’ ‘Truly?’ asked Melusine, warmth lighting her bosom. He seemed to deliberate. All she had found was the love of this dog. She had not gone by the name Lucy during those years but instead had called herself “Mary Lucia Iovelli”. She had no inkling of that insupportable wrong.
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