Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence. ‘And you come to me, thinking yourself half French, and expect me to take you in. For the sort of love-making you think about. So Monday, when I see one of the maids come out with a basket, for to go fetch summat for that other Frenchie—the female as I told you about, miss, as is forever coming and going with the nobs. Then he was surrounded by black-clad nuns, and Melusine felt an unknown hand grab away her own sword.
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