“Well!” she declared good-humouredly. Then it was the woman herself who was changed. He stared at her stupidly, forgetting to guard against the tactics he had come to expect from her. ‘How is your plan now, mon brave?’ Melusine taunted. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. ‘Adieu, imbecile,’ she threw at him gleefully.
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