Melusine ripped at the buttons of the garment, dragging it open and away, and gasped at the massive red stain on his shirt. ‘Who is to be angry with you now?’ ‘Miss Prudence, that’s who,’ stated Joan bluntly. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. Only a few, but enough for me to understand that some act had driven you to this part of the world, where the hunted hide.
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