But don’t think your heroic milice will save you. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. Noiselessly, his booted feet stepping with careful restraint, he started forward, signalling to Roding to follow. Leastways, she’d be your greataunt, wouldn’t she?’ Astounded, Melusine was just about to demand further information, when a commotion outside the room interrupted her.
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