You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent. If he had imagined Melusine would be hampered by her petticoats, he was disappointed. Day after day she pounded him with curses, saying that her mother looked down on him from Heaven and sent a curse, to which he laughed. “I do love you.
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