And you tell me that the reason you are doing all this is so that you can marry an Englishman!’ Melusine giggled. What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. She married my Dad in a small ceremony down at City Hall.
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