The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. “I had found her at last, and she shot me. " "Poor Jack!" exclaimed Thames. Three times he uttered a phrase: "A djinn in a blue-serge coat!" And each time he would follow it with a chuckle—the chuckle of a soul in damnation. ‘You’ll come with us and get yourself safe back home to your convent, understand?’ ‘But wait,’ begged Melusine, hanging back.
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