Stanley took the letter and stood with it in his hand thoughtfully for a time. Drowning, her brain dizzy, Melusine clung to the source of the flooding warmth, her hands, no longer forcibly held, moving without will about the firm back. ‘Never would he have gone to England. “My heart, my dove, I only want to heal you. Well, my dear, it is time you stopped wallowing in your sorrows like a common wretch.
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