Men who could have broken her over one knee like a stick of kindling followed her commands as unquestioningly as children. The hair so revealed was a little long, and as black as a crow’s wing. Yet it was so; the maid sounded on the verge of hysteria. “Listen to me, Sheemie,” she said.
What she said might be true, but it didn’t matter. They swooped giddily about in their eternal twilight, weaving over and under one another, their wings leaving tiny silver trails of bubbles. “Welcomed em and gave em bread to eat, and it’s ruin they’ve fed ye in return! The deaths of those ye loved and depended on, I’ll gouge em clean myself.
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