“Where to?” he asked, as the hansom drove up. I think not. So, instead, they talked of dancing and what it might mean in a human life. ‘You’ll come with us and get yourself safe back home to your convent, understand?’ ‘But wait,’ begged Melusine, hanging back. You can’t possibly understand!” He began a confused explanation, a perplexing contradictory apology for his urgency and wrath. “It isn’t a joke,” she said. She cursed herself for a fool.
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