‘It looked to me as if he was playing games with Madame Valade,’ Lucilla said frankly. Behind the Avenue was a little hill, and an iron-fenced path went over the crest of this to a stile under an elm-tree, and forked there, with one branch going back into the Avenue again. They found out Cris had some sort of criminal past, more child abuse stuff of course. Who could guarantee a safer existence outside Florence? That Sebastian seemed to have a weird immunity to the Pestilence was a trait that went unquestioned, unanswered. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. No; she'd never go back.
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