Lucy could smell that Michelle was the body type that easily became cancerous, and fast. When Sheila was in a bad mood, she berated her new foster daughter for streaks on the windows, dust on the figurines, for crooked bed sheet corners, and floors that had not been waxed properly. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. ‘But of course. " "Aye, music hits them. His name was Sebastianus. You know, Melusine. Nice, of course.
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