Melusine ripped at the buttons of the garment, dragging it open and away, and gasped at the massive red stain on his shirt. Gosse sneered. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. It was ended. . I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband.
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