It’s not you—not a bit. ’ A little sigh escaped her. “I had found her at last, and she shot me. When Sheila was in a bad mood, she berated her new foster daughter for streaks on the windows, dust on the figurines, for crooked bed sheet corners, and floors that had not been waxed properly. ’ Melusine sank against the wall of the corridor, closing her eyes. Perhaps the sunken cheeks and the protruding cheekbones gave her this impression. It said: Got news for you about J.
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