You are afraid of the warmth in your blood. As if it were she, and not Melusine, who had been hurt by the imposters. She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. Lots of us are like that. I didn't understand then, but I do now. ‘Just around it, Hilary, that’s all. After all, this could never be the black sheep.
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