I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled. Occasionally the canvas snapped as the wind veered slightly. He looked from the sword to the dagger with which he had brought her down here, and grimaced. Either she had been seen, or they were seeking the air. She was surprised to find how stored her mind was with impressions and memories of him, how vividly she remembered his gestures and little things that he had said. As if it were she, and not Melusine, who had been hurt by the imposters.
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