If so I shall have to leave. I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. “And yet you still live, Butterfly. You are—or rather you were——” he corrected himself with an unpleasant little laugh, “Miss Pellissier, eh?” A little sensation followed upon his words. The salt air was fresher than the stale air in the manor. “Don’t know me, eh? I like that. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast.
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