’ The lad Kimble moved swiftly to the door and walked out of the room. Melusine was silent, revolving this outcome in her mind as she stared at Roding, who was frowning at her in a puzzled way. By a miracle, he averted its path, his hold on the girl’s mouth shifting fast to grasp her wrist. She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass. The wings stopped. He must fight the thought continually, day in and day out. His eyes never left her face.
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