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’ ‘Lady Bicknacre too,’ said Lucilla, a delight in her voice that grated on Melusine. Melusine fetched her stool and plonked it down next to her great-aunt’s chair. Clothes. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. "Very well. “Does he live here?” he asked her presently. It was not human and yet very human, a high pitched wail of hunger that rattled her skull.
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