“It isn’t a joke,” she said. You needn’t be in any doubt about it. . The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. 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.
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