“How dare you? You are trying to kidnap my babies!” Clotilde demanded. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. He could see lust virtually dripping from the dark-haired boy’s maw as she teased every last note from her shuddering violin, the devil in a black skirt. It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again. As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss.
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