The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. At least for one moment, it was. She licked his neck, which put him over the top. ‘Now then, missie, where do you think you’re going?’ ‘I must see Jacques only for one little minute,’ Melusine told him prettily, fluttering her lashes. "What's that to you?" retorted Jack, surlily. ” Annabel shrugged her shoulders. But, no. All men are bloody fucking hypocrites. ” He examined the emerald in his hands and placed it carefully on the glass table. Spurlock began to munch his water-chestnuts.
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