Grace, confidence, the power of movement even, seemed gone from her. Cathy Beck was terribly upset and was on the verge of exploding. Her hair was held back in a filigreed barrette. She brought the unconscious man down. ‘Jacques!’ Melusine dropped to her haunches beside his inert form, feeling for the wound. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. Now you can understand why every minute is a torture to me.
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