’ ‘This is not a new thing,’ Melusine snapped, goaded. “Is that you, Nigel?” she asked. Most of the time, he was hunting and he returned at night. She had animated dark blue-gray eyes under her fine eyebrows, and dark brown hair that rolled back simply and effectively from her broad low forehead. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly.
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