The occasion is worth a dash of the grape, lad. She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the author. ‘Do you swear it? There’s no knowing if one can believe you. Then he relaxed back a little, and let the weapon dangle from his fingers.
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