’ Chapter Six Creeping along the dark narrow passage, with lantern held well ahead to keep her step steady on the uneven stones—and to warn her of the advent of rats— Melusine kept her long petticoats fastidiously clear of the dirt with an efficient hand, a habit she had learned in the convent. ‘He can’t be Valade, that’s certain,’ mused Gerald, unheeding. Spurling, half aside. Melusine circled her adversary only far enough to give herself the aisle between the pews behind. She will cry for days and nights together.
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