Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. Teenagers don’t have any power, not of any sort, not in your world, not in the old world. I hear the sound of his horse's feet in the yard. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. He stalked her, he stared at her, he craved her, he sidled slinking and propitiatory and yet relentlessly toward her, until at last she awoke from the suffocating nightmare nearness of his approach, and lay awake in fear and horror listening to the unaccustomed sounds of the hotel. Teenage boys never change, she thought to herself. She watched, puzzled, as her cavalier frowned at the newcomer, glancing from him to Melusine and back again.
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