His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. ‘This is the way you tell me that you love me? You English idiot, you!’ He seized her wrists to hold her off, actually daring to laugh, much to Melusine’s increased fury. ‘But it is entirely myself,’ she exclaimed aloud. ‘What, is Nicholas dead?’ He saw the two of them exchange glances and an instinct of danger rose up.
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