She wished she had not stood up. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. There she would wander about in the kindly darkness. "I don't deserve it," he said, at length; "but I would have risked a thousand deaths to enjoy this moment's happiness. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. ’ ‘That was hardly the impression I got,’ Gerald murmured, remembering Melusine’s attitude to Leonardo. Celeste he knew. That's how I finally got wind of it. It will serve you out if I give her dagger back to mademoiselle, so that she can plunge it right into your chest.
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