The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved. He had a flattish, perhaps, it should be called, a flattened nose, and a brown, leathernlooking hide, that seemed as if it had not unfrequently undergone the process of tanning. The recollection was too painful, and he burst into an agony of tears. ‘What was you wanting it for, may I ask?’ ‘You may not ask, for it is none of your affair,’ Melusine snapped. Without you I should never have recovered either health or reason. Marthe has told me that the house comes to my mother, Ma—ry Re—men—ham. She possessed what he affected to despise, but secretly worshipped—the innate charm of breeding.
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