‘Pardon, mademoiselle, but perhaps your father went to England, after all, and —’ ‘My father went to Italy,’ interrupted Melusine, her heart tightening with the familiar sensation of loss. Lucy clapped a hand over Michelle’s mouth and struck her neck with a swift blow to the carotid artery. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. Valade stood his ground, holding the doorjamb, and facing up to the general.
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