Fritz flailed against his mother wildly, crying generous tears. ’ ‘Then why,’ demanded Melusine, ‘did you do it?’ Gerald closed his eyes. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. She cleaned everything, wiped every surface, mopped and scrubbed every last drop of blood. On the floor, underneath the sixth row desks, was an ashtray with a small black dot of blood on its blunt round corner. .
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