The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. ’ Melusine cursed Emile roundly, but raised a defiant head. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss. “Surely Lady Ennison would object, even if it were possible.
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