A tarnish of constraint that had recently spread over her intercourse with Capes vanished again. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. The man was mad to marry me. There was going to be no quarter between these two. Something softened in Melusine’s chest.
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