‘Mademoiselle. He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. He said that for him beauty justified life, that he could not imagine a good action that was not a beautiful one nor any beautiful thing that could be altogether bad. Kimble had bedded the animal down at the local inn. But all of that was forgotten. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. ‘And what the devil do you mean by demanding that I wait on you here? D’you think I haven’t enough to do handling that caper-witted female’s affairs, without dancing attendance on you?’ ‘Don’t be cross,’ begged Lucilla, much to Melusine’s disgust. Ruth returned to the table. It'll be in your way.
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