Clotilde pried Fritz from Lucy’s left leg where he was clinging. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones. She refused to accept her fate, but what is it that she could do about it? Night after night she invented alternatives. And you tell me that the reason you are doing all this is so that you can marry an Englishman!’ Melusine giggled. .
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