Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. You don’t know. She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. ‘Cajolery? This is not your style. ’ ‘But I have still a dagger,’ Melusine warned. .
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