She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. "I shall need little more. What would you? I cannot fight them all. ’ She allowed herself to be pulled to the centre of the room, but uttered in a low tone, full of suppressed anxiety, ‘How can he know? How can he know?’ ‘You mean how can he know that this is your house?’ Melusine looked up at him, distress in her eyes.
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