The nuns had no regard for the sensibilities of a “lady” and expected Melusine— for it was her allotted task—to clean and tend the soldier’s wounds even when they festered. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. His hands were exploring her once again in the car. I’d only get a pack of lies in reply.
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