Brendon. After all, this could never be the black sheep. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. But with the skill of a fencer he met the blow and broke it, seizing the wrist. ‘And if not her, for she is dead, then me. She sat down awkwardly and helplessly on one of the little stools by her table and covered her face with her hands.
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