As usual the substantive sister—Prudence—did all the talking for the pair; Angelina, the shadow, offered only her submitting nods. It might prove rewarding. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. ‘I did not think so. But I had to know for sure.
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