’ ‘But, no,’ She dimpled. ‘Me, I have a name. Each was draped in transparent silk, dancing, beckoning to me, teasing me. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. And so —’ ‘And so she was able to become my—’ Melusine did not say it, for wet-nurse no longer seemed appropriate.
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