A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. “John, of course I forgive you if it is what you need from me. E. ” “It is you,” he cried, “you, who are talking folly, when you speak of friendship between you and me. . . ’ ‘Certainly he is not a friend,’ Melusine agreed, ‘but he has gone, after all. ’ She bit her lip, frowning.
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