‘It must be painful. " "Queer birds. Oh, God!” Rhea sniffed the air through two gaping nostrils that had eroded through her onion skin flesh. If only she had thought to plunge the scissors into her own heart! Hoddy … to return and find her either gone or dead! But even as the Wastrel's arms gathered her, there came the sound of hurrying steps on the veranda. ” True summer descended like a sticky fever upon August’s arrival, bringing with it miasmas of humidity that seemed to hang from the trees like mucus. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. “I’ve got it. Sheppard, meekly. And, lastly, to the Seven Cities o' Refuge, in the New Mint.
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