His diminutive hand flew out from behind his back like a wounded bird. Melusine stepped back a pace, her gaze fixed on the vision before her. On this second excursion, forewarned, she would use no light and keep as quiet as a mouse, she vowed, and thus refrain from attracting the attention of the militia at the gates. Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked. One learns to sit up.
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