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Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. And this though he was evidently passionately in love with her. ‘I don’t think you need do that, Melusine—if I may call you so. “I hope that you are going to allow me to see something of you during your stay in London, for the sake of old times. Diane spoke first. Nothing else matters. ‘Do you mean to tell me,’ enquired the captain at length, ‘that you have had the infernal audacity, the—the gall, the—the— Gad, it’s an outrage! You’ve stolen a horse from a priest?’ ‘I did not steal it,’ protested Melusine hotly.
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