Ann Veronica, who knew her dress became her, dropped a curtsy to her father’s regard. He would condemn her to the vengeance of the mob all for refusing to marry him. His frowning gaze came back to her. "Red apples and snow!" he repeated. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. Melusine flew after him, the sword held out before her and pointing directly at his retreating back.
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