\" She whirled around by instinct, frightening the boy who she had borrowed the pencil from. Her heart in her mouth, hoping against hope, Melusine made her way back to where she had left the boy. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. And most of the others she had met had, she felt, the same steadfastness. But sadly, at Lullingstone we are too far off the coast to be of use.
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