" Quitting the night-cellar, the trio soon arrived at the riverside. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. Melusine felt the calloused hand grasp around hers. She plucked at the knots of her racket and heard him to the end, then spoke in a restrained undertone. “I will take my chance. "I can," replied Trenchard. This way, Sir Rowland.
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