She calls him a pig, and she says he ain’t Valade. ’ ‘Don’t count on it. ’ ‘I imagine it must be a relief to you, after so lucky an escape. She lost it in the Mint. ” The tired woman sat still for a moment. Light flooded the place. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages.
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