To have written a short story in a week was rather a remarkable feat. Seventeen hours, sixteen hours. Lucy clapped a hand over Michelle’s mouth and struck her neck with a swift blow to the carotid artery. I am called Melusine. The mighty concourse became for a moment still. Gerald glanced at Hilary and saw the stunned look on his face. ‘No sense in snooping about down here,’ Gerald whispered.
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