‘Certainly I can prove it. ’ Melusine’s eyes misted. Michelle was laid onto the back seat, her head cradled in Lucy’s lap. She was to be a Corsair’s Bride. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony. “If I had three hands,” she said, with a faint smile, “I would give one to each of you. I wanted it badly. The blood will rest on your head.
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