And if you’ve any notion—’ ‘Yes, it is upstairs,’ Melusine agreed, crossing to the library door. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad.
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