. 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. . ‘So that’s true, is it?’ ‘Certainly it is true,’ Melusine said, opening her eyes wide. Her bonnet dropped off and was trampled into the gutter. ‘Hilary, you must stop referring to mademoiselle as “she”. “Flesh and flowers are all alike to me.
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