“Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react. At least until we graduate. As in a dream, Melusine saw her faithful footman struck, his headlong progress checked. A siphon and a whisky bottle stood before him. Next to the executioner stood his wife—the former Mrs. She moaned as his hands explored her body, fingers crushing against her panties under her skirt. “I suppose you’re like the rest of them.
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