His attention was focused on Melusine’s transfixed stare and he forgot to say any of the things he had planned to say. There stepped forth a tall brown man. She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God. “I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. The likelihood is that I shan’t see the wench again. He took her hand in his, raising it closer, and gently touched the maltreated skin.
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