‘You do not use your head, Emile,’ she said flatly. It must be some days before you can arrange for her to make an identification. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily. It was you! It was exactly you, but it was probably the photo they thought it was your mother! I dug it up after combing the Reader’s Guide To Periodical Literature for like, six hours straight. Melusine opened her eyes at him. She exhaled, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders and arms.
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