It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. ‘I don’t want a hue and cry after me, I thank you. Melusine came in, picked up the lantern, and heard the library door bang open just as the panel clicked closed behind her. Would to God I had. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. "Take care of your charge. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday.
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