. . ’ Melusine blinked at this competence. Move. “Well,” he said, argumentatively, “it IS. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. She knew his appetite from many a homemade dinner and knew also that he had taken Bitch Vorsack’s comments to heart.
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