“The rest,” she said, holding tightly to his hands, “is the most important of all. He was draining a glass, and as he set it down he shuddered. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. ‘I do not remember the name,’ Melusine said, turning to Mrs Ibstock. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood.
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