“Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. None of the things they said and did were altogether new to Ann Veronica, but now she got them massed and alive, instead of by glimpses or in books—alive and articulate and insistent. Melusine cast one swift glance at it, and her eyes, flashing magnificently, came back to his face. Not once during the ceremony did the two look at each other, but riveted their gaze upon the lips of the man who was forging the bands: gazed intensively, as if they feared the world might vanish before the last word of the ceremony was spoken. I don’t care what divides us.
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