The Master of the Mint. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. There was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman. They always get back together. As silent as she had remained about who had brought her home last night. ‘Monsieur, my wife intended not to anger you,’ he said in a tone of apology.
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