’ ‘Will you go back there?’ asked Gerald. ‘You’ll make shadows. ‘Dunderhead. Michelle’s eyes widened. ’ Gerald started. ’ ‘But if I am with you, as André Valade, as your husband, an émigré—’ ‘Pah!’ Melusine spat. The boat's sure to run foul o' the bridge; and if she 'scapes stavin' above, she'll be swamped to a sartainty below. His gaze dropped to the black garment that covered her. No; she'd never go back.
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