’ ‘What if she goes back to Charvill?’ demanded Roding. In fact he was thinking of other things. He was unable to possess Lucy's hand as he had in the cinema, separated by the annoying chasm between the van's plush seats. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. Her father was holding her waist, smiling. Melusine gave herself a little mental shake.
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