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She gripped his buttocks as she climaxed. He guided himself between her legs. This I know, for the Valades have taught me so, and the nuns also. But she had loved the man. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. ’ ‘But why, Marthe,’ asked Melusine, as she walked into the house.
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