They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese. She spied him sitting on his armless black couch, his feet splayed as he stared at his television blankly. Oh, and only look at those stains,’ cried Miss Froxfield, gesturing at the blood on the ruffles to the sleeves of Melusine’s riding-habit, and on the chemise she wore under it.
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