"Where is your accursed master?" demanded Blueskin, holding the sword to his throat. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. “But, how,” he said, sitting up astonished beyond measure, “not go on?” “I have been thinking while you have been talking. Sebastian physically restrained her as she hit and scratched at him, trying to touch her mother who went swiftly into her death throes. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. There is worse to come.
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