"Here he is, waterman," exclaimed the benevolent carpenter. After that night she made it a habit. ‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. It had been cut down before life was extinct, but a ball from one of the soldiers had pierced his heart. I don’t know.
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