Danger, in the form he apprehended, was lurking outside: nor was he destined to enjoy long repose. The strong fingers of one hand secured both her wrists there, and Melusine found herself chest to chest with him as he threw off his hat, and began to pat at her petticoat, searching for tell-tale protrusions. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. I used to go by the name Lucy Iovelli, which was my natural father’s surname. I burned it.
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