It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. “Promise me that you’ll never tell another living soul, John. You, Anna, are one of them. ’ ‘Are you off your head? Think I don’t know you’re up to some mischief or other?’ Melusine feigned innocence. But I had to know for sure. He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black.
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