. ‘Don’t dare call her that to my face. But I won't be cheated of my prize. ’ ‘Was it yours?’ Insulted beyond bearing, Melusine lost her temper. She could still smell the now familiar scent of him on the girl's body in the makeshift grave. Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. Her depression since the “accident” had possessed her, she no longer cared how she looked as her beauty helped her not.
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