B. ‘Jacques, are you dead? Jacques, do you hear me?’ Melusine put her cheek to his lips, and felt the faint warmth of his breath. Anna, who had sung the first verse of her song, looked around the house, a little surprised at the absence of the applause which had never yet failed her. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. Always at your service. Blue Ruin will do the job nicely.
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