Without realizing what she has done, she's made a dreadful mess of it. ’ 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. For the first time, perhaps, in his life, he repented of his brutality. 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. Melusine was unable to repulse him—even had she tried. I must break open the door.
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