’ ‘I fetched them with my clothes when the son of madame took me to see Marthe,’ Melusine admitted. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes bright. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest.
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