I’d rather die than hear any more fairytales. "Iss, Massa. This—all this swamps them. CHAPTER V At dinner the spinsters invited Ruth to sit at their table, an invitation she accepted gratefully. Do you want to kill us both? Stop the thing. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. Looking for something, or someone, probably.
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