’ ‘Well, I do now,’ Lucilla said firmly, and turned back to Melusine. ‘Madwoman,’ he screamed back, as he climbed over the next pew, eyes darting down briefly to check for his sword. Above all, beware of Sir Rowland Trenchard. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. Her hair touched water, becoming like the seaweed in its velvet slickness.
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