On this side a flight of wooden steps, protected by a hand-rail, led to a door opening upon the summit of the prison. The funeral, it has just been said, took place on that day. “About my sister,” she repeated slowly. ‘Pardon, mademoiselle, but perhaps your father went to England, after all, and —’ ‘My father went to Italy,’ interrupted Melusine, her heart tightening with the familiar sensation of loss. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child.
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