She heard their feet and muffled voices. Had Valade been to see him? Possibly even yesterday when he was followed by some young lad—and the girl, of course. “You are a thousand times more beautiful,” he said, “than anything else could be. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. We already had a place to mislay blame. Vorsack echoed him.
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