Many things were only words, sounds; she could not construct these words and sounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. ” Lucy coolly marveled as she studied the girl’s face, belly swollen from pregnancy. “What has she told you?” “Everything. ‘It is London’s loss, ma’am.
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