A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. ‘That is true,’ Melusine conceded. ‘So it would appear. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him? “It isn’t all of me. Only her ungloved fingers, and the arms in their long tight sleeves as she held the heavy gun aloft, bore any sign of stiffness. His lovely black eyes softened until they became like languid as the night sky. They're apt to be surly to strangers, but it soon wears off.
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