Melusine stepped back a pace, her gaze fixed on the vision before her. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. ‘And she’s—’ She broke off, a sudden light in her eyes. Where is your hat?’ ‘Parbleu, is this a way to rescue me?’ Melusine demanded, digging in her heels and wrenching her arm out of his hold.
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