Accolon's hand was cold and solid in hers. Her voice was fretful. It seemed he was not yet ready, though she was all alive to him, her body flowing with the pulse of life and desire in her. All those who pretend to religions, Morgause thought, wish only to keep the sources of power in their own hands.
Nor, he added, laughing, my own. an image rose in her mind of the Holy Well of Avalon, the water rising from the spring, flooding into the fountain. I never understood Father Griffin either, but he was angry when I did not. Shall we send, then, for the Lady Viviane? Gwenhwyfar asked.
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