This smile was more harrowing even than her former rigid look. Then he was surrounded by black-clad nuns, and Melusine felt an unknown hand grab away her own sword. As he proceeded, other painful reminiscences were aroused. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. ‘There are no Remenhams left. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all.
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