‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. One or the other. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. I’m six hundred and forty-eight years old, John! I should have never seduced a young boy, let alone expected him to keep my secrets for me.
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