‘Cajolery? This is not your style. His hat was placed upon one pole, his wig on another. It plucked shingles from the school building, threatening to shake them all loose one by one like rotting teeth. ‘So that’s true, is it?’ ‘Certainly it is true,’ Melusine said, opening her eyes wide. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. That’s my advice.
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