He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. . How did you meet him?’ ‘He was wounded and came to the convent for sanctuary,’ Melusine told him, stung by his criticism into revealing more than she had intended. It was not a hard face, but it was resolute. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet.
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