There’s that old gentleman at the end of the table—Bullding his name is. It was Blueskin. She ducked behind a pile of unused drywall. He did not spend more time with her. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. Ramage’s bitterness passed as abruptly as his aggression.
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