Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun. Know that, don’t you?’ ‘Of course I know it,’ Lucy told him, and Melusine read the whisper in her mouth of those precious words, ‘I love you. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens.
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