The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. ‘Talk to me another time. ’ ‘Oh, peste,’ exclaimed Melusine crossly. "I'm not worth it. That’s the fact of the matter. ’ ‘Comment?’ she demanded with some heat. It'll be your own fault if you don't soon get another and a proper young man into the bargain. "You forgot your lunch," she said. He knew. Peste, she had forgot the sword. It was past seven when she got back to her hotel.
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