I am sure that he can be got rid of. His only warning was a gleam of silver in the faint spill of light from the house above. And Blueskin, who, for a moment, had looked round distrustfully, concluding it was a feint, now laughed louder than ever. Don’t leave me. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. It was a castoff of Shari’s from her brief obsession with sewing. He smiled. “Why would she do that? Why does she care? That’s a waste of her time. She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms.
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