She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. ‘I have said it is not stolen,’ snapped Melusine indignantly. “Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. She had money of her own—much more than I have—and there was no need to squabble about that. Their doors stood open, and placards with big letters indicated the section assigned to each.
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