That would be an unkind twist of fate. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. Sheila was finishing her laughter as Lucy brought an elbow down on the back of her head, expertly snapping the vertebra that connected Sheila’s head to her shoulders. So appalling was the sight, that even the murderers—familiar as they were with scenes of slaughter,—looked aghast at it. Sebastian began to maintain a harem. He began to think of speeches, very firm, explicit speeches, he would make.
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