Nor is Theresa, or even Thérèse. ’ The expression on Emile Gosse’s face was vicious under the smile. When they were going home she asked her mother why she and Gwen and Alice had cried. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. ’ Melusine put her arm through his in a friendly way and moved with him outside to stand on the porch, leaning into him in a confidential way. She had finally managed to start breaking him down. Go away now, there’s a good lad.
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