Chapter Eight For an instant in the silence that followed, shocked into immobility, Melusine stared in horror at the body lying there so still. . You speak as one injured—as though I had been the one to take your name—as though you had been the one to make sacrifices. When Sheila was in a bad mood, she berated her new foster daughter for streaks on the windows, dust on the figurines, for crooked bed sheet corners, and floors that had not been waxed properly. Or I should have made love to you long ago.
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