‘Pardon, milor’,’ said Valade, ‘but Monsieur Charvill, he was not at fault. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. She must have the capability to learn magic, to learn the enchantments that add to her power. ‘Because he knows you for an imposter,’ Melusine flashed. Here and there, patches of flesh adhered to the bones, and the dank dripping hair hanging about what had once been the face, gave it a ghastly appearance.
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