She wrapped a leg around him. ‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More. ‘You’ll make shadows. ’ Melusine bit her lip on a sharp retort. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so.
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