"One last embrace. " There was another pause. This time she was indeed beaten. Her mouth at half-cock, Melusine stood there staring at him. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning.
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