Lucy looked at her reflection with a measure of awe. 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. Mr. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. Then Melusine is in truth your granddaughter.
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