“Well, I don’t feel like standing it. ‘Well then, Melusine,’ he said calmly, ‘it seems as if we must get you your dowry willy-nilly. You have spoken her name, I think, Marthe. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray.
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