Spurlock. In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth. You have neither reason nor logic. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. She moved then, fast, taking refuge behind a Chinese screen that was set beside the four-poster at the back of the room. He glanced down between the still narrow distance that lay between Melusine and himself, and discovered her hand there, a very small dagger within it. “You too sing?” he asked.
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