‘I am not a murderer. He did not think of her as a killer, he could barely conceive it. She kept opening her eyes and looking at it. He stood up abruptly and went to the window. I cannot protect you. But of what use to wear it when there was no one of importance to see and admire? ‘For shame, Melusine,’ protested Lucy, as the butler bowed himself out of the room. Lucy's grin faded. So she took up Stevenson and began to read aloud. Rage flooded her at his intent, but she controlled it.
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