You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours. Father— dead. He was always visualizing the Hand whenever he let his gaze rest upon the horizon. The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. I won’t tolerate any foreign tongue in this house, least of all that confounded French. It fell with a clatter to the floor. She could tell that he was leering at her.
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