“Do all foster kids have the instinct?” Michelle asked naively. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. ’ Noting the twinkle in her great-aunt’s eye, Melusine forebore to comment, grateful to Lucilla for adjuring Captain Roding to give an account of himself. He chuckled. Her back stiffened. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil.
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