He had no ideas about daughters. “Are you speaking to me?” she asked calmly. She had killed the McCloskeys after they had witnessed her making a kill. She warmed to him fast, her anger was much harder to carry than the pleasant everyday neutrality of affection. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings.
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