Her body rose up to meet his in a cat-like stretch and she smiled. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. ’ ‘Who is that?’ demanded Lucilla eagerly. After all, that was life. “Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. ” “You are not a coward,” she repeated, “or you would not be my friend.
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