Lucy cringed, her eyes widening. Men usually do. ‘What are you going to do now, child?’ Melusine sighed away the last of her distress. "He's here. He rang the doorbell, even though she had already cracked the door for him. Kind of knows it, too. No more scuffling. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. But his lips were honourlocked.
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