At the least, the tales had the ability to make her forget where she was; which was something in their favour. She went to the basement and shed her sodden coat and scarf, tossing them into her favorite modern appliance, the electric dryer. Sheppard, whose maternal fears drew her in another direction, hurried off to the Mint. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. Brendon’s had an awful stroke of luck.
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