” He said with a laugh. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. The child was still safe. What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse.
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