“Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. ‘Will you—what was it?—“blow off his head”?’ Melusine eyed her, a little uncertain. “It may be true, but it isn’t quite what I have in mind. She had agonized over it for weeks. Kneebone in a conciliatory tone. He allowed his voice to drip with sympathy.
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