’ The core of hurt rose up, tearing at her insides. “Why can’t we propagate by sexless spores, as the ferns do? We restrict each other, we badger each other, friendship is poisoned and buried under it!. “Are you speaking to me?” she asked calmly. Her confession was still unmade. ’ Again, Melusine did not waste words. But, not daring to confess his want of comprehension, he made a profound reverence, and retired. ’ Then she ran swiftly out of the library, calling out as her cavalier was almost at the front door.
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