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The boy’s besotted. She twanged the catgut under her fingers. Lucy stared like an automaton at Michelle’s unconscious 262 body, revolted at her own actions to the point of shock. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. ‘Gérard, do not go,’ she cried, breathless.
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