’ There was satisfaction in Melusine’s voice. The strong fingers of one hand secured both her wrists there, and Melusine found herself chest to chest with him as he threw off his hat, and began to pat at her petticoat, searching for tell-tale protrusions. “I am sure,” she said, “that you mean to stay until you are turned out. I am not of the canaille, but a bourgeois. He was going to tell me something— and he shut up. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. She shuddered as his naked body pressed against her.
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