The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. She rapped on Michelle’s door loudly. “If one half of the stories about Meysey Hill are true,” he answered, “I would not stretch out my little finger to save his life. And here you are!” Her aunt opened all the fingers of her gloved hand in a rhetorical gesture. For the love of Heaven, Jack, don't move!—Don't alter a muscle, if you can help it.
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