gutenberg. A brief feeling of empathy with Pottiswick passed through him. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. He will say who it was. So often as she had herself manipulated a dagger, she could not mistake the shape that pressured across her chest, or the sharp point that dug below her bosom. ‘But you know. He seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself.
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