She moved forward almost indiscernibly, a millimeter. Anna sprang lightly away across the street. “I don’t think our engagement can go on,” she plunged, and felt exactly that loss of breath that comes with a dive into icy water. “There’s the classes,” said Constance, the well-informed. There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her. Melusine—the real Melusine—would never have made such a stupid mistake.
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