Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. A rare moment of amusement lightened Melusine’s mood for a moment. “My dad is into this stuff. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. I’ve always had a sneaking desire for the writing-trade.
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