He would condemn her to the vengeance of the mob all for refusing to marry him. C. . . ’ Melusine turned, an irrepressible giggle escaping her lips as she thought of the Mother Abbess in the convent at Blaye. Sensing his discomfort, she stood up and brushed lint off of the hem of her gray miniskirt. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly.
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