She sat herself upon the bed. Lucy sprinted to one side to avoid the crash and grabbed at Rhea’s solitary patch of yellow hair, which ripped out loosely in one decayed piece like strands of rotten corn silk. It did not seem quite fair. The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. Meantime the spinsters sought the dining room where tea was being served. Martin's Le Grand. Next moment, he had Melusine by the arm.
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