A disconcerting gray eye that had a mystifying depth. In a convent, you understand, one is like a servant, even if one is a lady. “These are her rooms,” she said. At this juncture, Sir Cecil and his followers appeared at the threshold. He loved you. They WERE, she realized, acutely beautiful things. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. Did I not say so, Hilary?’ Melusine’s glance shot across to the newcomer, and found a petite blonde standing there, very fashionably attired in a velvet mantel over an apple-green robe, the furred hood framing a face alive with mischief.
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