She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone. After all, that was life. I promised to put him in touch with some people in Rome, an idea which he warmed to. The nuns had no regard for the sensibilities of a “lady” and expected Melusine— for it was her allotted task—to clean and tend the soldier’s wounds even when they festered. But when he looked again, there she was! "I don't understand," he said, finally.
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