Gerald liked her enormously. This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's. “I am afraid,” she said, “that he must have a skeleton key to these rooms. She seemed to think he was merely the paymaster, handing over the means of her freedom. Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked. Melusine could not wish either to know how their kindness served only to emphasise the lack in her life ensuing from Gerald’s continued absence.
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