She climbed back into the window an hour before sunrise. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. You cannot care for her. ’ He gestured towards the fulminating general. “But—” The long inconsecutive conversation by that time was getting on her nerves. Recovering herself, Melusine tucked the weapons out of sight, down into the deep holsters hidden under the petticoat of her riding habit, and went back into the house where Martha awaited her in some impatience. Sydney was watching her eagerly. I must break open the door.
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