‘Will you—what was it?—“blow off his head”?’ Melusine eyed her, a little uncertain. Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors. Um. One has to train one’s self not to. “You propose, then,” she remarked, “that I shall still be saddled with a pseudo husband. A hollow feeling opened up inside her, and she felt her heartbeat quicken. Let us part in peace.
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