’ Lucilla eyed him with one of those particularly feminine looks it was difficult for a mere male to interpret. Oh, I grew fond of you as the years went by. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. After all, if Valade—or no, what did you say was the villain’s name?’ ‘Gosse,’ Melusine supplied.
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