. ’ So saying, he pulled her forward, slipping her arms about his back. But her words were not addressed to Melusine. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. “And, after all, I am just one common person!” She watched the throb of the arteries in the stem of her neck, and put her hand at last gently and almost timidly to where her heart beat beneath her breast. There is so little abandon, so little real joyousness.
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