It was enough that she witnessed it and could not go to him. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. ’ Relief flooded Melusine. She looked in the rear-view mirror.
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