Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. “Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly. You are all that I am or hope to be—the celestial atom God put into me at the beginning. ‘But she will not shoot you,’ Melusine told him flatly. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. Heaven forbid. She swallowed hard.
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