The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. ‘It is the life I know. The petals have fallen—the red petals we loved so. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. " "The Black Lion!" echoed Terence. ‘I can take care of myself, bête.
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