Do you think that I am utterly selfish?” She raised her eyebrows. He glanced down between the still narrow distance that lay between Melusine and himself, and discovered her hand there, a very small dagger within it. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. She wanted him so badly it hurt. "To—to—no matter what," returned the widow distractedly. I shall still wear your favor—even if it is a stolen and forbidden favor—in my casque.
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