CHAPTER XXVII. She slid the dress off, naked underneath. Do not let her think worse of me than I deserve,—or even so ill. ‘You’ll come with us and get yourself safe back home to your convent, understand?’ ‘But wait,’ begged Melusine, hanging back. And, lastly, to the Seven Cities o' Refuge, in the New Mint. Your disobedience be upon your own head. The Higher Life and the Lower.
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