John knew better. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. She romanticized, imagining a life on the High Seas. It was astonishing how seldom it was that his instincts betrayed him. ‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her.
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