Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. She saw Lucy darkening her doorstep and stood from the recliner. Melusine—the real Melusine—evidently did not see him immediately, for her attention was on her descent from the high vehicle. She had been so busy with life that, for a vast gulf of time, as it seemed, she had given no thought to those ancient, imagined things of her childhood.
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