The marriage lines that confirmed a union between the said André Valade and Mademoiselle Melusine Charvill touched the old scars and he gave vent to a muttered expletive. "You will never leave me," sobbed the poor woman, straining him to her breast. He just seemed to have no interest, consumed with the hunt or his newfound friend, Sebastianus, who supposedly would enable him to expand his political ties to Rome. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you.
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