Such was the simple code that displayed itself in all his thoughts. It was the one that she had sworn she’d throw out, if only Julian had not liked it so much. Little more’n a week. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears. He was not Meysey Hill, but an Englishman of business, and he had only a small income. Her birthday was four months away, and that, at its extremist point, might give her another five pounds. “If only her sister is half as pretty, no wonder that she has set the Parisians talking. How did you meet him?’ ‘He was wounded and came to the convent for sanctuary,’ Melusine told him, stung by his criticism into revealing more than she had intended.
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