He is Jacques. Neither combatant could use his sword; and in strength the fugitive was evidently superior to his antagonist. Above her head was an aura of white fire. The burden of decision had been transferred. ’ ‘Why should I?’ ‘Because I can’t live without you!’ ‘That is your own affair, and—’ Melusine broke off, staring at him, shocked realisation kicking in her gut. “Well,” she admitted.
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