The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park. ‘Will you—what was it?—“blow off his head”?’ Melusine eyed her, a little uncertain. “Yes, mostly. I know what I am doing better than you do. He dared not go on. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees.
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