She wanted to turn him. ‘What’s wrong, miss? Ain’t I done right?’ Melusine’s mind was reeling, but she reached out and seized his wrist. Sheppard, a matron offered to conduct him to her cell. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. But the objects in his range of vision remained unchanged. “I am sure, Anna,” she said, “I do not see why we should conceal the truth from you.
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