Now then. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. Diane replied, “Is there something wrong with that, Michelle? This is my house too, you know. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. And now, when you come at last, you bring me this grandfather, and you dare to tell me I am like him.
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