Novel
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Christine lowered Gaston Leroux's book, which she'd been reading aloud for several hours now, to her lap. Erik listened, his head inclined against the wing of his armchair, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I can't believe how well he's portrayed the managers," he choked around his laughter. "It is simply too much!"

His wife's face creased with a frown. "I don't know, Erik ... I cannot like his description of us. Were we ever such foolish innocents?"

"It matters not, my love," he smiled, rising and going to her; "my plans for you at this moment are far from innocent."