Oh, God!” Rhea sniffed the air through two gaping nostrils that had eroded through her onion skin flesh. ‘Do you tell me that my disreputable son had the infernal insolence to pass you off as that whoring Frenchwoman’s daughter?’ His answer was in their faces. She looked at him curiously. I found it on the beach, just sitting there nestled inside a piece of driftwood. ‘Of course. He's coming. "But to drag this innocent child into the muck! With her head full of book nonsense—love stories and fairy stories! Have you any idea of the tragedy she is bound to stumble upon some day? I don't care about you. .
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