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She wanted to return his gaze but focused intently on a spot next to and above the brick fireplace, as her music teachers had always taught her to do instead of looking directly at the audience. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. She wished she had not stood up. Strewn across the bed was a multitude of jumbled garments. ‘Did she call you that?’ asked Lucilla, amused. It had been a trying day. Sheppard. "Jade," said Ah Cum. “It is a hateful story.
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