She had eaten them, murdered them routinely, and yet he loved her still. You feel that that smile is for you, the words are for you, the whole song is for you. “Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. ’ Her breath tightened and she was obliged to control an inner ferocity. ‘Who kills who?’ ‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle by the wall.
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