“My friend,” she said, “no! Let me tell you this. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak. She unlaced his pants and slid them down his hips, examining him as he stood before her naked. What Miss Miniver would have called the Higher Truth supervenes. Melusine’s eyes blazed into his.
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