’ He took the thing from Melusine’s listless grasp and went on, ‘Now then, what’s all this here argy-bargy with Pottiswick?’ Melusine opened her eyes and straightened up. The ring's yours, and you're mine. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. Here she would find candy awaiting her, bits of ribbon, books.
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