‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. Melusine approached with caution and sat warily at one end, looking up at him expectantly. He made her tell him the core of the difficulty. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. She woke up choking and belching water.
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