"What good would it do you to destroy me? For I have courage to kill myself. ‘Do not speak any more for you give yourself pain,’ said Melusine fearfully. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. Her eyes were lit with mirth, the corners of her mouth quivered. She could smell the savory tinge of his sweat in the air. Killed is too kind a word. Possessed, at one time, of a share in the South Sea stock, he conceived himself worth twenty thousand pounds. Superimposed was the agitating thought of what would follow the death of this unwelcome guest: confusion, poking authorities, British and American red tape. “You know, my mom caught me smoking once with Missy. His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe. Wild had escaped.
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