Oddly, he was seldom angry with her as Gianfrancesco would have been. Her place was not filled; she had been simply noted as absent, and she did a comforting day of admirable dissection upon the tortoise. Recovering herself, Melusine tucked the weapons out of sight, down into the deep holsters hidden under the petticoat of her riding habit, and went back into the house where Martha awaited her in some impatience. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments.
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