I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still. ‘Pardon, mademoiselle, but perhaps your father went to England, after all, and —’ ‘My father went to Italy,’ interrupted Melusine, her heart tightening with the familiar sensation of loss. Lucy howled as tooth met bone, her arm clamped in the trap of Rhea’s huge canines. ‘The cat’s foot, Hilary. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one.
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