Her gown was minimalist compared to those concoctions of boning and lace of long ago, she reflected, but that did not stop it from getting caught on 134 brambles and twigs. His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. ’ ‘He does not call himself my father, for he calls himself nothing at all,’ Melusine told him, her tone violent with fury.
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