She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. It was a bizarre sight, a miniature manor, replicated fully, walled in gray limestone. Melusine soon found herself seated at a table, with a dirty piece of paper in front of her, and a badly mended pen between her fingers. The hills surrounded her cave home protectively. " "Oh, that!" she said, with a deprecating gesture. Her fingers rested upon his. Sir John once more looked around him.
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