“I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. (What was the name he had given her that day?) He was walking beside the chair upon which appeared to be a bundle of colours. pglaf. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore.
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