The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. She did not resist him, she could not. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. Melusine grasped the hilt of the sword she had been carefully holding, and came out into the light.
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