The young male, as she had actually seen him, had been of the sailor type, hard-bitten, primordial, ruthless. He’s a catch, Lucy. The panel in the bookcase. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. She learned that they had granted her the attributes of an earth elemental goddess, and they considered her as necessary as the wolf, as if she had a role to play in the natural order.
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