She could still feel his psychic presence all around her, and she knew he was thinking of her. If it was not an actual personal lover, it still might be the lover not yet incarnate, not yet perhaps suspected. Until at last I persuaded him to go to bed. ‘What’s wrong, miss? Ain’t I done right?’ Melusine’s mind was reeling, but she reached out and seized his wrist. "Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone.
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