Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. Too busy. Following him, and acting out of instinct rather than intent, Melusine took a firm grasp of the gilt frame with both hands, lifted it high in the air and, with a shrieking curse, brought it down hard. “Perhaps that is only sleeping,” he said. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. There was a hint of tears in her voice.
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