She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. She was always breaking rules, whispering asides, intimating signals. “I should really like to find somewhere to stay, if it was only for a few nights. ’ Melusine turned, an irrepressible giggle escaping her lips as she thought of the Mother Abbess in the convent at Blaye. “But if you had?” she said.
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