I can’t help it. Lucy had tried for years to find a way of not getting blood all over herself when she made a kill. Gerald smiled and excused himself with the Poussaint girl, whose mouth pinched together as she threw a dagger glance at the voluptuous Madame Valade. There was a lock, apparently more than a foot wide, strongly plated, and girded to the door with thick iron hoops. “Go on,” he said.
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