‘A thing Marthe told me of,’ Melusine answered, her attention on the garments that were still lying higgledy-piggledy, just as she had left them. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. ‘I can manage now. A pane of glass was shivered by each stone. . Perhaps it was the recollection of those happy days. I could not love you else.
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