He had known she would be shocked, but he was equally certain Melusine would have refused to see her grandfather had she been forewarned. 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. “Annabel, I begin to see why you are here. I tried. I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted.
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