One day her mother swept into the bedroom of the family townhouse, sweeping across the floor with a bundle in her arms. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. She feasted reluctantly, partly out of wonder at the new function of her often elongated canines. Everything had stayed the same during the centuries. Spurling. ‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly.
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