The library was on the ground floor, Melusine recalled from the previous visit, for she had searched through a desk in a room filled with bookshelves of leatherbound volumes. “There are policemen—and buses. And I think also that Gosse—I mean that one who calls himself Valade—stole it. He refused to believe that Anna was not ‘Alcide. That’s as far as we go. There’s sure to be a place somewhere. In vain Wood protested his innocence. ” She smiled grimly at the recollection of that lunch—tea and roll at a cheap café.
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