It’s not you—not a bit. “Perhaps your engagements are made for you. The pearls were really yours?" "They were left to me by my mother. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. He stared at the woman depicted thereon for a long moment, awe in his head. "Clean and spotless, but beginning to show the wear and tear of constant use.
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