Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. And if sometimes I grow heady—and it's in the blood— remind me of this day when you took me out of hell—a thief. —D'ye hear?" Still the widow remained silent. "Something's wrong.
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