His countenance was almost as white and rigid as that of the corpse by his side. ‘Very well, mademoiselle, so be it,’ he snapped. "Enschede!" he called. “She found my collection of witchcraft books under my bed and threw them away. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school.
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