It slipped out—as did that “she”. Her life hangs upon a thread, and this may snap it. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. "I cannot—will not suffer you to remain here. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. She felt the softest touch caress her cheek, and a wave of tenderness engulfed Melusine.
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