’ ‘Hélas, poor you,’ Melusine rejoined sarcastically. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. His tongue was more ready, his wit more keen than usual. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. ‘Which presupposes that she needs to hide at all.
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