He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. ‘You do not understand, Gérard. Her features are the same, yet the change has written its mark into her face. We are the species, and maternity is our game; that’s all right, but nobody wants that admitted for fear we should all catch fire, and set about fulfilling the purpose of our beings without waiting for further explanations. . It always comes out sooner or later. ’ Melusine swung round and stared at him, while Gerald silently cursed.
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