“When did you look up my mother’s records at the Joliet library, Michelle?” Lucy asked, trying not to incriminate herself by sounding confrontational. Melusine flew after him, the sword held out before her and pointing directly at his retreating back. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. He sat down beside her just as the room became darker. “My dear Vee!” Her voice became very low. I get along with my Mom sometimes, Lucy. She caught at the idea. “In Paris. Perhaps these few words were the first real conscious words he had uttered in days. She hoped the lights would become hot enough to melt her into the floor.
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