She knew that in her new rôle she was as likely as not to be a rank failure. His demeanour then was sober enough to lend colour to that belief. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. ‘And you!’ shrieked Melusine.
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