Chapter Eight For an instant in the silence that followed, shocked into immobility, Melusine stared in horror at the body lying there so still. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. I told him the truth. Sometimes it seemed that she would never recover it. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his.
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