Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. Whence had she come: whither was she bound? A temporary congestion in the street held up the caravan for a spell; and Ah Cum looked backward to note if any of the party had become separated. ‘Pig, miss?’ ‘The one who calls himself Valade, idiot,’ snapped Melusine impatiently. “I don’t mind, of course, your seeing her sometimes, still there are differences— differences in social atmospheres.
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