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’ Chapter Six Creeping along the dark narrow passage, with lantern held well ahead to keep her step steady on the uneven stones—and to warn her of the advent of rats— Melusine kept her long petticoats fastidiously clear of the dirt with an efficient hand, a habit she had learned in the convent. She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach. Her aunt arrived about halfpast ten, in black and with an unusually thick spotted veil. . I wish that it worked.
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