Melusine recognised the burly form of Captain Roding’s sergeant. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. Why should you who are queens come down from your thrones? If you can afford it, WE can’t. I have nothing, nothing that can possibly be passion for you. She could feel Michelle’s nervousness leaching into her spine. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. .
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