. His hair had begun to gray, his belly had just begun to round. ‘I must see the lady who is my great-aunt. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. It was common name, so I was thrown off the scent. Á bientot—Melusine. The spinsters were not kind; they were only curious because she was odd and wore a dress thirty years out of date. I don’t think for a moment that he would recognize you. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone.
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