Something seemed to dredge up from the recesses of her memory and she brightened. She opened her mouth and inhaled water. It would have been better had he succeeded in murdering her, she thought. ‘What’s wrong, miss? Ain’t I done right?’ Melusine’s mind was reeling, but she reached out and seized his wrist. . ‘No!’ Melusine snapped as he tugged at the thing. She was alarmed at how little her husband Gianfrancesco packed for the trip, leaving behind his best scarlet and black lucco, which he wore for every business and political meeting. There could not, he decided, possibly be two girls so much alike. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin.
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