. Leaving the panel wide, Melusine dashed to the library door and flung it open, racing into the hall. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. Gay. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower.
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