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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. She was not Madame Melusine Valade. It hardly served his interests. Recovering herself, Melusine tucked the weapons out of sight, down into the deep holsters hidden under the petticoat of her riding habit, and went back into the house where Martha awaited her in some impatience. She's not mischievous—and besides she's chained, and can't reach you. To be ill and helpless.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 24-09-2024 16:43:01