He hated horizons. This way, Sir Rowland. ‘And I’d like to know what the devil—’ ‘Out of town?’ repeated Melusine, stupefied. His reputation was slightly tainted by his marriage to her mother, an exotic blue-eyed raven-haired beauty, a Gypsy doll with a clandestine heritage. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. Thinks they’re the same as soldiers.
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