Michelle pulled a Kleenex out of a Pocket Pack and blew her nose. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. "His wife is still living," returned Kneebone, drily. No other man should touch her; she was Hoddy's, body and soul, in this life and after. You know I call that positively wicked.
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