Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. ‘Deaf? Deaf? I’ll have you know, miss—’ ‘Do not have me know anything,’ interrupted Melusine crossly, and digging into her habit, produced the fateful dagger that had cut Gerald’s hand. The door closed softly upon her. ‘Merely making a useful contact. He will not provide for the daughter. ‘Talk to me another time.
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