The music throbbed into the warnings that preceded the king’s irruption. The danger or difficulty of an exploit never appalled him. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. He hated the taste of it. Perhaps the boys had already faced off and he had missed it, he thought sourly. Melusine did not try to fight her captor, for that would only make him angry. She felt him as something solid and strong and trustworthy beyond measure.
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