. He was beautiful and perfect, his blue eyes smiling at her. ‘Will you—what was it?—“blow off his head”?’ Melusine eyed her, a little uncertain. In lieu of the substantial habitations which he had gazed on overnight, he beheld a row of falling scaffoldings, for such they seemed. His frowning gaze came back to her. She did not bother with the backpack despite its due tomorrow status. The thought of beauty became an obsession. It is of no use.
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