’ The familiar hollow opened up inside Melusine’s chest, and she could not prevent the husky note that entered her voice. “It is concerning—our future relations,” Sir John pronounced ponderously. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. The watcher's intake of breath was sibilant. As to his mother, I've no pity for her.
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