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She must kill this man, or kill herself. This time they would call it murder. But—but how?’ ‘Can you write?’ Gerald asked, digging into one of his capacious pockets and bringing out a leather ring purse. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. The man himself was not a pleasant object. “P. ‘More nor that. Last night Mr. \" Lucy replied meekly. ’ Gosse smiled and Melusine read triumph there. “Yeah, I know. “Where am I?” he muttered.
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