She was instinctively aware of him as she had been of Julian. She was very pretty. Below was an uninspiring street, a thoroughfare of boarding-houses and apartments. “What year was 221 that, about 1350?” He asked in wonderment. The vestry was perhaps the only room in the place, except her allotted curtained off portion of the dormitory chamber that served for her cell—and she could not scandalise the nuns by having a man in there, be he never so much a servant—where Melusine could be sure of privacy.
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