They were familiar but more massive. I would have married her long ago, but she will not have me. He drew her to him with his hands upon her waist. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. ‘The more I hear about this Leonardo,’ Lucy said severely, ‘the more I want to meet your Melusine.
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