“John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house. “Shit!” John quickly countered, “What are you going to do? She’s a motor-mouth, Lucy, of the worst kind. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. ’ Melusine began to sag, and felt his strong arms catch her up and lift her bodily into a comforting embrace.
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