He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. ’ ‘Parbleu, it is I who am the idiot?’ she scolded furiously, removing one hand and digging it into her sleeve. It remains a bizarre idea to me that Lucy Alberti could ever become so detailed or so real, but I’m certainly glad to have made her acquaintance. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. " The hint was not lost upon Wood.
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