Generations had been born and died in between the times she had gotten laid. “Why not? It might amuse me. Nothing else weighs against it. His noble Florentine roots went back a thousand years, to the days of grand Rome herself. My last foster father in Alabama before the Becks was a heavy drug abuser. Oh, and only look at those stains,’ cried Miss Froxfield, gesturing at the blood on the ruffles to the sleeves of Melusine’s riding-habit, and on the chemise she wore under it.
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