She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. Then she called a hansom and drove home. Ann Veronica readjusted her chin on her hand. ’ Melusine edged a little away from the portrait. “I had a visit from Sir John in my rooms,” she said.
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