Lucy could see her striding down a Parisian catwalk quite easily. Even so much allusion as this to that family shadow, she felt, was an immense recognition of her ripening years. Melusine fetched her stool and plonked it down next to her great-aunt’s chair. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites.
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