’ ‘Think Valade will come back here then?’ ‘Melusine thinks so,’ Gerald said, pausing at the top of the stairs. Gianfrancesco had been talked into the arrangement only because the drivers that had handled the job for generations were sick or dead. “What do you mean?” Lucy asked. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. Wood; but they never come now. Wood required little pressing.
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