Her father intercepted her, and for a moment she and he struggled with their hands upon the latch. ’ ‘Eh bien, you are not a saint,’ Melusine snapped. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. She positioned it over her arm, placing the firing end in Rhea’s mouth.
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