She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. Washed in light from the vestry window, she held her ground, all thought at bay, bar the steel determination long ago instilled in her by her unconventional tutor. ‘I don’t think he deserved that, Melusine. That you are not Valade at all, and that I am Melusine Charvill, the granddaughter of monsieur le baron, the general.
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