“Does he ever ask about me?” She asked, feeling like a cuckolded old maid. He had never liked to be hugged, but she wondered if his corporeal needs would be made apparent by human touch. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. "I guessed what was coming. ’ Quick remorse raced through Melusine’s veins, but she hit back strongly.
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