Paris, 18. Mike was draped over the laminate kitchen counter, on the phone as usual. The strong fingers of one hand secured both her wrists there, and Melusine found herself chest to chest with him as he threw off his hat, and began to pat at her petticoat, searching for tell-tale protrusions. She exited solemnly, retrieving and carrying Michelle’s unconscious figure into the forest like a reluctant bridegroom. Jonathan, however, paid no sort of attention to this demonstration of hatred.
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