’ ‘Eh bien, you are not a saint,’ Melusine snapped. She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God. “No! No no no no no no no!” She ran towards them, her arms outstretched, but he blocked her. Why ain’t you gorn? Seems to me I had ought to arrest you. Imbecile.
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