And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. "You thank Heaven for the escape of the man who did his best to get your child's neck twisted. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. So far the thing was acceptable enough.
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