She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. ‘No!’ Melusine snapped as he tugged at the thing. ‘Jacques,’ she said, turning to the lad, and holding the habit out, ‘take this for me and leave it in the passage where we have left the lantern. You can trust me, Anna. He did his best not to grin. You’re NOT to go. There was no response. She was shocked. It came into her head with real emotional force that this must be some particularly fantastic sort of dream.
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