. . She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. The door closed upon her, and he moved reluctantly away. The Plague raced through the city and the Palazzo, consuming it like fire. Even Blueskin looked on with anxiety. I am glad or sorry according as it has brought you happiness. She could stow away, go to a place where there were no people to eat and end her life.
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