Mike chortled. He took her hands firmly in his and raised them to his lips. “I was sick of the make-believe. A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind. Then he was surrounded by black-clad nuns, and Melusine felt an unknown hand grab away her own sword. "Where is he?" he cried. He propped himself up on one arm, kissing her passionately. She had never been so happy to vomit.
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