S. They don’t count, and I don’t care. Chapter Eleven Melusine’s limbs nearly gave way beneath her. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. He was officially in the nun’s employ, but Melusine had commandeered his services immediately on the discovery that he had conceived a passion for her. She quickened her pace, and so did he, talking at her slightly averted ear. “We sent for you several hours ago,” he remarked. “No, I’d like to.
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