ed into his as if she were without nerve or bone or will, and his kiss was like fire and ice on her lips . My poor sister, Arthur said again. he drew herself up frantically, pain lashing through her, beating with her fists against the stone wall. Now you ride to Camelot with your son, said Morgaine quietly, but not as I foresaw.
The dark shadow of his body over her blotted out the sky and the stars. and a little to the north of it, the island that coiled, from where they stood, like a sleeping dragon. Arthur was as white as his shirt. His rich voice was as detached as if he were admiring a child's first attempts to spin.
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