"Keep a sharp look out, Bess. Michelle walked towards the sloping Victorian stairs. Wary they might be. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain. He will not come. That day Gerald had brought her to this excessively careful house, where she had felt very much alone and very unlike herself.
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