He glanced down between the still narrow distance that lay between Melusine and himself, and discovered her hand there, a very small dagger within it. But for me it doesn’t matter. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. He had been frozen in time at age forty-two. The proa bore away to the northwest out of which it had come. When he had finished he took up the wine list and ordered a bottle of dry champagne.
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