She looked at him as he fingered a small switch on the side of the helicopter’s door. ‘I don’t think you need do that, Melusine—if I may call you so. You will stop at once. We could go to University together. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. Which is also puzzling.
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