Lucia watched in fascination as Isobella nodded at her, only three years older than she, nursing her son with a contented smile upon her face. Drowning, her brain dizzy, Melusine clung to the source of the flooding warmth, her hands, no longer forcibly held, moving without will about the firm back. “You are making your dress?” “Such as it is. “Can’t stop, thanks,” he answered. ’ ‘What young lady?’ demanded a voice from the back of the hall.
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