Gently each time Ruth drew down the arms. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. I am out of your life forever, never having been in it. ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ protested Hilary angrily. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. ‘You don’t even know what it means, do you?’ Melusine frowned. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company.
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