’ ‘Do you care to test that theory?’ Gerald suggested easily. You should go home today and get some rest. ‘Now then, missie, where do you think you’re going?’ ‘I must see Jacques only for one little minute,’ Melusine told him prettily, fluttering her lashes. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together.
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