Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. ‘Why?’ Melusine eyed him dubiously. “His back was towards me,” Anna said. Parbleu, but she was a fool. The phone did not ring. There must be something behind the missioner's actions, something of which the girl knew nothing nor suspected.
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