Blueskin therefore had nothing to stop him. ‘You’ll come with us and get yourself safe back home to your convent, understand?’ ‘But wait,’ begged Melusine, hanging back. She reminded him sometimes of the one holy and ineffable Madonna, at others of Berode, the great courtezan of her day, who had sent kings away from her doors, and had just announced her intention of ending her life in a convent. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. I pity her from the bottom of my heart. ’ She drew a heavy breath. It was denied him, for as he closed his eyes—though but for an instant—the whole scene of his former visit to the place rose before him.
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