She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. ‘Forgive me, Mrs Sindlesham, but do you tell me this inheritance that Melusine has fought so hard to recover is completely wasted?’ The old lady gave him a sharp look. " "What's the meaning of all this?" demanded Sir Cecil.
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