We needn’t try and give ourselves airs. Wrenching his hands from her shoulders, she thrust them away and leapt up from the chair. His eyes on Melusine, he uncocked the pistol, and then reached out to the portrait, grasping it by one edge. She packed her backpack with a change of clothes, some rags, and her old length of piano wire. At first she thought he was endeavouring to rid himself of the fleas, but after a time she came to understand that the muck had healing qualities and soothed the burning scratches made by his claws.
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