We felt like thieves. Lucy sprinted to one side to avoid the crash and grabbed at Rhea’s solitary patch of yellow hair, which ripped out loosely in one decayed piece like strands of rotten corn silk. There are men in the Lowndean who laugh at him—simply laugh at him. ‘If the boy had sense enough to send word to Gerald as he was told to do, then God be praised!’ ‘Parbleu,’ broke from Melusine, as she turned on him instead.
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