Forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing Darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse. She looked in the glass over and over as she checked for lint and makeup streaks. ‘You are not sympathique in the very least. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment. ’ *** In the cosy little parlour that Pottiswick rarely used, Melusine paced restlessly to and fro. “I suppose things have changed?” she said.
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