He addressed her by that title, and something in the tone disturbed her. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. This time they would call it murder. The room was reeling, or was it that she was going to faint? She recovered herself with a supreme effort. But she must not laugh.
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