‘Before she can think of marriage, Melusine must prove her identity. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt. On coming to himself, he found he had been wrapped in a blanket and put to bed with a couple of hot bricks to his feet. Ah, and put him under if he wakes up. ‘Beg your pardon, ma’am, but she’s enough to try the patience of a saint. I thought that I was marrying Meysey Hill, not that creature.
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