I have brought disgrace upon you, and I haven’t been the right sort of wife at all. ‘Now then, where did you spring from?’ ‘Do not concern yourself from where I come,’ Melusine snapped. You know nothing of life, nothing of its dangers, nothing of its possibilities. I have nothing, nothing that can possibly be passion for you. ‘Will you let be?’ Instead she grasped his hand tighter. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian.
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