Her body was perpetually tanned, despite the approach of winter. She examined Michelle’s pale face. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. Having traced the footsteps to the wall, and perceiving no outlet, Blueskin elevated the lamp, and discovered marks of bloody fingers on the boards. ‘Kimble, you shouldn’t be here. She glanced at the soft-ticking clock with the exposed brass pendulum upon the white marble mantel, and made a rapid calculation.
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