’ The lad Kimble moved swiftly to the door and walked out of the room. She shut her lips hard, her jaw hardened, and she set herself to struggle with him. Something softened in Melusine’s chest. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. “Where have you been? All these hours I have been calling for you. But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest. He's the only native I trust in these parts. “Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine.
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