Pramlay lived for amenities and the mellowed surfaces of things. She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork. ’ A reluctant laugh escaped him. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. She went across to the little window again, her back to Melusine. If only to say goodbye. .
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